


Ékécheiria

by paperstorm



Series: Arcadia [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 5sos as hockey players, Angst, Explicit Sex, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Violence, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 102,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6559288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm/pseuds/paperstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Noun</i><br/>Origin: Greek<br/>1. "the laying down of arms"<br/>2. Armistice, truce, and cessation of hostilities during the Olympic games</p><p>  <i>A sequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/3390182">Arcadia</a>. Three years later, Luke and Michael are chosen to represent separate countries in the 2018 Winter Olympic Games.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ena

**Author's Note:**

> The wind howls outside, whipping past through the trees. It sounds like wolves. Maybe it _is_ wolves. Maybe it’s both. Luke’s secretly glad there are locks on all the doors and windows. He won’t say that out loud, he’d just be mocked. And he’d deserve it, probably, because wolves couldn’t open the doors or windows even if they weren’t locked. The moon is bright and high, when he peers up at it, but it’s blurred by flying snow. This isn’t the soft, gentle, ballet dance of snowflakes you see on Christmas cards, fluttering gracefully down from the heavens and blanketing the world in white and thick silence. It’s like the apocalypse. If the apocalypse was an unnecessarily dramatic snowstorm. Luke hopes it slows soon. If it goes all night, the road will be blocked by the morning and then their friends won’t be able to make it up here in a few days. Even Carey’s enormous, redneck pick-up won’t manage to get through if it’s too deep.  
   
A noise in the kitchen makes Luke look away from the window, and a flash of blue hair appears just for a moment, over the countertops, and then it’s gone again. Luke smiles to himself. A small part of him hopes maybe their friends won’t make it. He’d would be happy enough here alone for the next week. In their hectic lives, they don’t often get blocks of time to spend, just the two of them, and just _be_. Just be together and alone and exist in limbo. Luke loves it when they do.  
   
He turns back to the window. It’s drafty, here; the frigid air from outside seeping in through the cracks in the sealant and tingling against Luke’s cheeks. The cabin is old and the windows could probably stand to be replaced. At least there’s a nice woodstove. It has a fan, so it heats the place up nicely. And they have blankets, and each other. Luke isn’t too worried about being cold. He is a bit worried about it snowing so much that they’ll be buried alive and they’ll have to wait until it melts in the spring to get out. But only a bit. That is only a very, very tiny possibility. Besides, if they didn’t show up for the first practice back in January, their coach would drive out here and dig them out with his bare hands just so he could kill them himself.  
   
The trees sway in the wind, straining against the pressure and bending so far Luke is surprised they don’t snap. The snow is falling almost sideways now. The power went out an hour ago. Luke’s glad he thought to bring a battery-pack charger for his phone, just in case something bad _does_ happen and they need to call someone to come rescue them. Not that any fire truck or ambulance could even get here, in the middle of the storm. So they’re totally alone, then. It’s a bit troubling, but also a bit romantic, in an end-of-the-world sort of way.  
   
“Found it!” a voice calls from the kitchen. A moment later, Michael emerges, triumphantly holding a flashlight in one hand and some sort of metal device in the other. Luke would happily share his boyfriend’s enthusiasm if he had any idea what that was.  
   
“Congratulations?”  
   
“Are you gonna ask?”  
   
“Do I need to?”  
   
Michael rolls his eyes. “It hooks onto the top of the woodstove, and this end goes inside.” He holds it up to demonstrate. “Then you can slide a saucepan onto these pieces and it’ll, like, hang there. So we can heat water up so we can have hot chocolate.”  
   
Luke blinks. “That’s what you were looking for all this time?”  
   
“What did you think?”  
   
“I _didn’t_ think. I figured you were just prowling because you were bored.”  
   
Another eye-roll. “Do you want hot chocolate or not?”  
   
Luke presses his lips together. “Yes please.”  
   
Michael points the spindly device at him. “You’re lucky I love you,” he declares, and then disappears back into the kitchen.  
   
“Yes I am!” Luke calls after him. The banging of pots and pans is the only response he gets, but he smiles anyway. He knows Michael heard him.  
   
This is the first time Luke has ever spent Christmas away from his family. It’s the first time he and Michael have spent it together, just the two of them. It feels momentous. Luke misses his family, but Ben was going to be with his girlfriend and her parents this year so it already wouldn’t have been the same. He and Michael are going down to Ohio next week, to spend time with the Hemmings’, so Luke isn’t too sad about not being with them today and tomorrow. It will still feel like Christmas next week. His mom will still make way too many cookies, and they’ll still watch _Elf_ and open presents and eat until they can’t breathe. Ben will be there, then, so it’s better this way. It’s nice, for the first time, to be alone on Christmas with Michael. Even if he managed to somehow convince Luke it was a good idea to rent a cabin in the mountains north of Montreal that they now might die in, especially if the power never comes back on.  
   
A soft mewl draws Luke’s attention to the floor near his feet, just moments before a black ball springs upwards and lands gently in Luke’s lap.  
   
“And you,” he says, amending his thought that it was _just him and Michael_ here, even though Kellin most likely can’t read minds. “I didn’t forget you.”  
   
He scratches behind the cat’s ears, and Kellin’s blue eyes close and he pushes up against Luke’s hand, and then curls in his lap. Full grown now, he’s still small and he still loves to sleep on Luke’s legs.  
   
“Are you talking to me?” Michael calls.  
   
“To the cat,” Luke calls back. Kellin meows again, as if on cue participating in some kind of roll-call.  
   
“Okay, this is going to work,” Michael says, coming back into the room, now with a silver pot Luke assumes is filled with water.  
   
“I believe in you,” Luke tells him.  
   
“Thanks, babe.” Michael kneels in front of the woodstove and opens the little door. Carefully, he hooks the metal hanger to the top of the stove and then lets it swing into the small cavern, floating just above the flames. Then he pushes the pot inside, careful not to spill, and lifts his hands off it slowly, like he’s afraid it isn’t on right and it’s going to just tumble down and douse the fire. It doesn’t, though.  
   
“I think it’s actually gonna work!”  
   
“I thought you already knew it would.”  
   
Michael flips him the middle finger without looking at him, his eyes remaining glued to the fire. “It’s staying! Dude, I am the master of the wilderness. I would _so_ survive if I was stranded up here.”  
   
“We’re indoors. This isn’t the wilderness,” Luke points out.  
   
Michael finally turns to him and smiles. “You would be the first to die.”  
   
Luke chuckles. “Probably. I’m very delicate.”  
   
“I know.” Michael gets up, and sits next to Luke on the couch. He leans down and kisses the top of Kellin’s head, and then kisses Luke’s nose. “Hello.”  
   
“Hi.” Luke reaches out and cups Michael’s cheek, pulling him in for a real kiss. Michael moves in closer, accidentally knocking Kellin as he does, and the cat squawks in offense and jumps off Luke’s lap, slinking off to curl up in front of the fire.  
   
“Sorry, bud,” Michael laughs.  
   
“I’m not,” Luke tells him. “More kissing, my lips are cold.”  
   
Michael grins and indulges him, sliding his mouth against Luke’s, dipping his tongue inside. Luke’s hands slide up into Michael’s hair, around the back of his head where it’s shorter than the top. The undercut and the blue are a new addition to their lives since last week, and Luke really likes them both. The cut looks so good on Michael. It gives him a harder, punkier edge. And the blue in contrast makes his pale skin so bright and glowy. It makes his green eyes look like the ocean.  
   
“Better?” Michael asks.  
   
Luke nods. “How long will the water take to boil?”  
   
“Probably not long, it’s in fire. Also it doesn’t need to boil completely, it just needs to be hot.”  
   
“Do we even have hot chocolate mix?”  
   
“Yes. I brought some.”  
   
“You thought of everything.”  
   
“Yep. Gotta take care of my man.”  
   
Luke smiles and kisses him again. “I kinda like being yours, you know that?”  
   
“I do.” Michael nips briefly at Luke’s bottom lip, and then he’s getting up and Luke misses his heat instantly. In a minute he’s back, with two mugs that he sets on the coffee table, next to the candles that are bathing the dark room in flickering yellow light. He kneels down in front of the stove again, mindful not to step on Kellin, and carefully removes the pot. Steam billows from the water that he pours into the mugs, curling up into the cool air in patterns that remind Luke of smoking candles on a birthday cake. Michael sets the pot down on the top of the stove and leaves the door open just a crack, to let the heat out. He moves the mugs gently in small circles, swirling the water inside to mix with the powered hot chocolate, and then holds one out. Luke takes it, blows on it, and sips. The hot, sweet liquid slips down his throat and warms him instantly, even more than the fire.  
   
“Perfect,” he says.  
   
Michael grins and looks proud of himself, and reclaims his spot on the couch next to Luke. He sits close, their thighs and shoulders pressed together, and that warms Luke up even more.  
   
“Merry Christmas Eve, Michael,” Luke says softly.  
   
“Santa is gonna have a hard time getting anywhere in this storm.”  
   
“No kidding. So, what’s our plan if it never stops snowing and we’re stuck here until April?” Luke asks. He’s mostly kidding, but he would like to know what tricks Michael has up his sleeve on the off-chance they do get snowed in. The longer the storm rages outside, the more it seems like a possibility and something they should maybe be prepared for.  
   
“I guess fuck until we starve to death.”  
   
Luke laughs. “Okay. Probably not in any kind of survival manual but I guess that sounds like a decent way to go.”  
   
“Are you … um.” Michael shifts a bit. “This is okay, right? It’s gonna be fun?”  
   
“The snow- pocalypse?”  
   
“No.” Michael pokes Luke’s knee. “Like. Being here with me, for Christmas. Instead of with your family.”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
“Okay. Good.”  
   
“Why?”  
   
Michael shrugs.  
   
Luke sets his mug on the coffee table, and then reaches to take Michael’s out of his hand and set it down too. He lifts his arm and puts it over Michael’s shoulders, tucking Michael against his chest. Michael leans into him. “We’re supposed to be past this, remember?” Luke reminds him, gently. “That thing where you feel something important and don’t tell me about it because you think it’s stupid.”  
   
“It isn’t that.” Michael snuggles in a little closer. “I’m really happy to be here with you. Christmas was the worst time of year for me, after my mom died. But you made it better.”  
   
Luke kisses Michael’s turquoise hair. “Wanna know something I never told you before?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“My first year. It, uh. It was on Christmas Eve that I realized I’d fallen for you.”  
   
“Really?” Michael’s arm goes around Luke’s waist, and his hand slips up under Luke’s shirt to pet at his skin.  
   
“Mmhmm.” Luke wraps his other arm around Michael too, enveloping him in a sideways hug. “I was at home with my family, and you were in Montreal by yourself, and you were all I could think about. Remember we talked on the phone? I convinced you to go be with Calum and his family?”  
   
“I remember.”  
   
“My family thought I had a secret girlfriend. Because I was all happy and smiley or something. They thought I kept texting a girl that I wasn’t ready to tell them about yet. But it was you. I figured out on Christmas Eve that I liked you. Or, at least I stopped pretending I was straight and _let_ myself realize I liked you.”  
   
“Three years ago, tonight.” Michael’s lips curve into a smile against Luke’s neck. “It’s our anniversary, then.”  
   
“Kinda.”  
   
“No, it is,” Michael insists. “Because I fell for you long before that. But love only works if it goes both ways, right? So if Christmas Eve was the night you knew you liked me back, then this is it. The night we officially fell in love.”  
   
Luke smiles. He hadn’t thought of it that way, but he likes it. He runs his nose through Michael’s hair, breathing him in. “Okay. Then it’s our anniversary. One of many, but maybe this is the most important one.”  
   
“Wanna consummate it?” Michael asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.  
   
Luke chuckles. “In a minute.”  
   
“You need a minute.”  
   
Laughing again, Luke rests his chin on top of Michael’s head and hugs him tighter. “No. I just wanna sit here with you for a minute. Just ‘cause I love you, or whatever.”  
   
Michael snickers, but then settles back in against Luke’s chest. “Okay. I love you too, or whatever.”  
   
“I know,” Luke answers, and closes his eyes. The flickering of flames plays just beyond his eyelids, slow and hypnotising, and Michael is familiar and comforting against him, and the wind still howls outside but they’re safe and warm inside and together, and it’s perfect.  
   
*           *           *


	2. dio

“Happy New Year’s Eve morning.”  
   
Luke smiles and doesn’t open his eyes. “I’m sleeping,” he whispers.  
   
“No you aren’t,” Michael whispers back. Soft lips touch Luke’s cheek. He reaches up blindly and finds Michael’s hair; tangles his fingers in it.  
   
“Happy … whatever you said,” Luke murmurs. Michael’s mouth finds his and their lips brush together. Michael rolls into him, and hardness presses into Luke’s hip. “You’re already up?”  
   
Michael smiles and kisses along Luke’s jaw, down to his neck. “It’s morning,” he says by way of explanation, sounding sheepish and unapologetic and the same time. “Also I’m next to you.”  
   
“It’s understandable, then.”  
   
“Completely.” Michael nudges Luke’s cheek with his nose. “Look at me?”  
   
Belatedly, Luke opens his eyes. He finds Michael’s bright green irises staring down at him. “Hey,” he murmurs.  
   
Michael’s eyes sparkle, and then he dips down and kisses Luke, his tongue slipping inside. It’s a little sour, first thing in the morning, but it’s been a long time since Luke has cared about that. He still tastes like Michael.  
   
“Think you’re still good from last night?” Michael asks, words kissed into Luke’s lips.  
   
“Probably,” Luke gasps. When Michael rolls further on top of him, he finds himself hard too, pressing up against Michael’s thigh. Michael moves, the muscle rubbing against Luke through his cotton shorts, and Luke moans and pushes his hips up into Michael’s.  
   
“Good, ‘cause I think I threw the lube across the room,” Michael chuckles.  
   
“You make bad life decisions,” Luke tells him. The words tumble into another moan.  
   
Michael gets up onto his knees and rolls Luke over onto his stomach. He wrestles Luke’s boxers down, spreading wet kisses down his spine as he slides a finger into Luke’s body. Luke shudders.  
   
“Don’t need it,” he mutters, rocking back into Michael’s hand anyway and betraying his own words. “Just go.”  
   
“Okay,” Michael rasps, his voice rough and urgent. He takes his hand away and replaces it, the blunt head of his cock nudging and Luke’s entrance and slipping inside. Luke loses his breath on a long moan, and can’t catch it again until Michael bottoms out and drops down, draping himself over Luke’s back, his open mouth resting against the nape of Luke’s neck.  
   
“Gonna fuck me, or what?” Luke dares, breathlessly.  
   
“You bet I am,” Michael answers, low and cocky. A shiver runs all the way down Luke’s spine.  
   
*           *           *  
   
There are voices, in the near distance. Loud and echoing through the trees and off the snow, getting louder as they get closer. Luke looks over at Michael – his boyfriend is smiling.  
   
“They’re here.”  
   
“Unless that’s a pack of wolves.”  
   
“Or murderers.”  
   
“Or murderous wolves.”  
   
“Are you two alive in there?” a voice rings out, from outside but close now. It’s Ashton. “Please say yes.”  
   
Michael smiles bigger. “It’s always possible Ash has been adopted by wolves.”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “No, it isn’t.”  
   
“Hey!” someone who sounds like Calum hammers on the door. “Let us in, it’s fucking freezing out here!”  
   
Luke jumps up. Kellin squawks at him and scrambles to get out from under Luke’s feet, not particularly excited at the thought of getting stepped on in Luke’s haste to let his friends in from the cold. Luke pulls the door open, and finds five faces staring at him, matching grins on their faces and cheeks turned red in the frigid wind.  
   
“Move!” Brendan shouts, before anyone else manages to get a word in. He shoves through the group from the back, the smallest of all of them but he doesn’t let that hold him back on or off the ice, and pushes past Luke to tramp snow-covered boots into the kitchen of the small cabin. “Who ordered the fuckin’ blizzard?”  
   
“Aren’t you Canadian anyway?” Ashton points out, as the rest of them file inside in a much more civilized manner, although still quickly. It’s really cold out there. Luke shuts the door behind them as soon as Carey’s over the threshold, bringing up the rear. The draft makes him shiver. He isn’t wrapped up in thick winter coats and hats and gloves like they all are.  
   
“That thing where people think Canadians don’t feel the cold? That is a _myth_ ,” Brendan says, and P.K. nods emphatically. “Just because we’re used to it doesn’t mean we like it.”  
   
“Of all of you, _I_ have the most right to complain!” Ashton announces grandly. “Where I grew up, we never even had _snow_. It never got _half_ this cold. I should’ve been signed in Dallas or Tampa or something.”  
   
“But then you would have missed out on all this awesome,” Brendan teases. He unzips his coat, shrugs out of it, and throws it into Ashton’s face.  
   
Ashton makes a displeased, surprised sound, and throws it right back. “How did I get so lucky?”  
   
“Where’s Michael?” Calum asks, looking around.  
   
“Over here!” Michael calls from the couch. He gets up. “How was the break?”  
   
“Dude, do you remember last year when my Dad totally burnt the turkey?”  
   
Michael snickers. “Yes. What this time?”  
   
“I so wish you were there.” The two of them disappear into the other room. Michael doesn’t bother saying hello to anyone else.  
   
Luke presses his lips together and smiles after them. He’s so, so happy Michael has Calum. After everything, Michael deserves someone that loyal more than anyone Luke knows.  
   
“Hi,” Ashton says to him, just before he pulls Luke into a hug that smells like cold air. Ashton still likes hugging, even when it’s only been a week since they’ve seen each other.  
   
“Hi.” Luke hugs back. He doesn’t mind at all.  
   
“We almost got stuck on the way up here,” Brendan says, bringing Luke’s attention back to the flurry of activity in the kitchen as everyone strips out of the outerwear and boots and drops their bags on the floor. Melting snow drips from their shoes and trickles across the floor to find Luke’s socked feet and dampens them.  
   
“It snowed like three feet on Christmas Eve,” Luke tells them, reaching down to pull his socks off his now cold feet. “Also thanks, my socks are wet now.”  
   
“What did you want us to do?” Brendan protests.  
   
“I’m not actually mad.”  
   
“There were a couple places I wasn’t sure my truck could even get through,” Carey adds, piping up for the first time. He usually doesn’t, for a while. He’s quiet. Unlike Brendan, he looks awed by the snow, not annoyed at it.  
   
“There were five of us,” P.K. points out. He brushes flakes of snow out of his short black hair and they fall to the floor like confetti. “And we’re professional hockey players. We probably could have pushed the truck out of anything.”  
   
Carey looks less confident about that.  
   
“I’m happy you didn’t get stuck and stranded and eaten by bears,” Luke offers.  
   
“Are there bears?” Ashton asks, his hazel eyes suddenly wide.  
   
“Of course there are, it’s Canada,” Brendan reminds him.  
   
“They aren’t dangerous, though,” P.K. reassures. “Like not unless you come across one in the woods and you try to attack it. Then it might tag you back. Otherwise they keep their distance.”  
   
“ _Tag you back_ , he says, like we’re talking about a rough check and not a man-eating Grizzly,” Ashton scoffs.  
   
“They don’t eat people,” Luke says.  
   
“They eat people all the time!” Ashton argues.  
   
“Do you see this?” P.K. jokes, pushing back his sleeves and flexing his biceps, the enormous muscles bugling under dark skin. “I will protect you.”  
   
“Thanks, I feel so much better.” Ashton rolls his eyes.  
   
Luke grins. He catches Carey’s eye from across the room, and as P.K., Ashton, and Brendan wander off in the direction Calum and Michael went minutes ago, Carey quietly asks, “Did you have a nice Christmas?”  
   
Luke nods. “We did. I mean there was a blizzard so the power went out and there was always the chance we would freeze to death before morning, but. We didn’t, so.”  
   
“Near-death experiences bring people closer together,” Carey reasons. His dark brown eyes crinkle around the edges when he smiles shyly.  
   
“I guess so. What about you?”  
   
“Yeah, it was great. Just me and Angela. Relaxing and stuff.”  
   
“Good.” Luke smiles at him. “She didn’t mind missing you on New Year’s Eve?”  
   
Carey shrugs. “She wanted to go out with her girlfriends anyway, like a last hurrah kind of thing. I’m not into nightclubs. I probably would have spent tonight on the couch at home.”  
   
Luke frowns. “Last hurrah?”  
   
“Oh.” Carey blushes a little, and glances toward where their friends just disappeared into the other room, making sure they aren’t overheard. “Don’t, uh. We haven’t told anyone yet so you have to keep it hushed. Even from Michael.”  
   
Luke raises his eyebrows. “She’s pregnant?”  
   
Carey nods, and looks so happy.  
   
“That’s amazing!” Luke cries, but softly. He shakes Carey’s hand and then pulls him into a brief hug. “Congrats, man. That’s so exciting.”  
   
“We’ll tell people soon. You won’t have to keep it for long, I promise.”  
   
“I won’t tell anyone,” Luke swears. “Even Michael.”  
   
“Are you one of those couples that tell each other everything?”  
   
“Usually. But I can keep a secret.”  
   
“Okay. Thanks. She just … wants to make like, an announcement, you know?”  
   
“Totally. I’m so happy for you. Really.”  
   
“Thanks,” Carey says again.  
   
“What are you doing in here?” Brendan demands, rounding the corner and holding his arms out. “Come on, Clifford lit a fire and we’re drinking!”  
   
*           *           *  
   
“So, who’s gonna kiss me at midnight?” P.K. asks.  
   
“If you get Cal drunk enough he might,” Ashton jokes. “He gets handsy.”  
   
Calum just shrugs casually. “You really never know.”  
   
“Okay, I’m taking steak orders,” Michael announces. He pats Luke’s thigh and then uses it to hoist himself off the couch. “Who wants what?”  
   
“I’ll take llama,” Calum says.  
   
“Ooh, we can go exotic?” P.K. smiles. “Do you have python?”  
   
Michael rolls his eyes while everyone laughs. “You’re all so fucking funny. I meant how do you want your _cow_ steaks _cooked_. Or if you prefer you can eat them raw like vampires, less work for me.”  
   
“Vampires don’t eat steak, they vant to drink your blud!” P.K.’s fake Transylvanian accent is terrible, and Calum laughs so hard he falls over onto the floor.  
   
“Okay so raw and with a side of spit for Subs and Cal,” Michael counts off on his fingers. “Anyone else?”  
   
“I’ll take medium-rare please,” Carey requests politely.  
   
“He is the only one of you I even like,” Michael points at Carey and glares at the rest of them.  
   
“Hey, I didn’t do anything!” Ashton protests. “I will have medium-well please, and thank you for cooking for us and for having us to your lovely home.”  
   
“Kiss-ass, but okay.” Michael holds out a second finger to keep track.  
   
“We don’t live here,” Luke snickers. He’s a little bit drunk. No more than the rest of them, but just enough that he’s warm and everything is fuzzy and amusing. “We’d have to commute to games on snow-shoes.”  
   
“Or sled dogs!” Brendan yells. “I always wanted a sled-dog team!”  
   
“ _You_ don’t live here either!” Luke tells him. “And if Michael and I did live here you definitely wouldn’t be invited to live with us.”  
   
Brendan looks offended for just a moment and then says to Michael, “I will take medium-well also and your boyfriend is rude.”  
   
“My boyfriend doesn’t want to subject your innocent mind to all the very not-safe-for-work things we do to each other when we’re alone,” Michael points out, dead-pan and stone-faced.  
   
Luke cringes; Brendan screams and covers his ears and Calum laughs even harder, writhing a little where he still hasn’t gotten off the floor. He might be drunker than the rest of them. He might have been drinking something harder than beer.  
   
“Well-done,” P.K. says.  
   
“Gross,” Calum informs him. “That’s like eating a leather glove. Rare, please. Extra bloody.”  
   
“Does somebody wanna set the table?” Michael asks, over his shoulder as he walks to the kitchen.  
   
“Wait, what about Luke?” Ashton calls after him.  
   
Michael waves a hand impatiently. “I know how Luke takes his meat.”  
   
P.K. makes a small, choked noise, like he’s trying desperately to stifle a laugh, and then fails miserably and bursts into uncontrollable giggles. The rest of them follow right behind him, with even Carey supressing a smile behind his hand.  
   
“Oh my God,” Luke groans. “It’s been like three years and none of you have grown up at all.”  
   
He gets off the couch and follows Michael.  
   
“We love you!” Brendan yells.  
   
“It isn’t mutual!” Luke yells back, but he’s lying.  
   
Michael is smiling at him when Luke walks into the kitchen. His blue hair is messy and his cheeks are flushed and he looks exasperated and also content. “We have interesting friends.”  
   
“Idiots, every one of them.” Luke gets close enough to grasp a handful of the front of Michael’s shirt and pull him in for a kiss.  
   
Michael’s hands wrap around Luke’s waist, and his mouth is warm against Luke’s lips. “I really like our life,” Michael says softly.  
   
Luke deepens the kiss just for a moment, cupping the back of Michael’s neck in his hands. Then he lets his lips fall away and leaves just the tips of their noses touching, his eyes closed and Michael’s breath on his cheek. “Me too.”  
   
“Well I came in here to see if you needed help but I’m not helping with _that_ ,” Ashton’s voice says from behind them.  
   
Luke grins and turns around. “You could help with dinner, though. If we promise not to make out.”  
   
Ashton rolls up his sleeves and goes to the sink to wash his hands. “Do I wanna know what you two have been occupying yourselves with all week since you’re basically snowed in?”  
   
“Oh just, you know.” Michael shrugs cheerfully.  
   
“I do know. You used to do it in the bedroom next to me.”  
   
“Not that much!” Luke protests.  
   
“Yeah, we always saved the hardcore stuff for my place,” Michael adds.  
   
“That was considerate of you, thanks,” Ashton drones.  
   
“We didn’t – ” Luke’s voice comes out squeaky, so he stops and clears his throat before continuing. “It’s been great. We watched movies, and caught up on sleep. And there’s a snow-mobile out back so we drove around on that. Went into the little town down the road, went to the bar. It’s all been very nice and respectable.”  
   
Michael snickers. “Except for – ”  
   
Luke smacks his arm. “Finish that sentence and you’re not getting any for a month.”  
   
“He _asked_.” Michael rubs his arm and shoots a dirty look at Luke, and then says sarcastically to Ashton, “Yes, it was very nice and respectable. Thank you for asking, Mr. Irwin. How was your holiday?”  
   
Ashton giggles and shakes his head. He wraps an arm around each of them, squeezing their shoulders. “My boys,” he says fondly, and then starts rummaging around in the cupboards for plates and silverware to take to the table.  
   
“Ow,” Michael says pointedly – a minute too late.  
   
Luke smiles. He bends down and kisses Michael’s upper arm, where he’d hit it, and then Michael’s cheek as well. He speaks quietly, so Ashton can’t hear. “That night was just for us. He doesn’t get to know about it.”  
   
Michael grins, pleased with himself, and tilts his head up to kiss Luke’s bottom lip.  
   
“I’m hungry,” Brendan complains. The others trail after him as he stomps exaggeratedly into the kitchen.  
   
“Come help me, then,” Michael says, holding a wooden cutting board with raw steaks on it and trying to step into his boots without dropping them. Brendan grumbles about it, predictably, but puts his boots on too and follows Michael out to the balcony where earlier Luke shoveled the grill free of the snow drift it had been drowning in.  
   
“I am _so_ good at mashing potatoes,” P.K. pronounces, coming over to the stove and snatching the fork out of Luke’s hand.  
   
“Yes, I hear that’s really tricky to master,” Calum muses.  
   
Luke pushes a bowl into his hands. “Toss salad while you mock.”  
   
“I can totally do both!” Calum says enthusiastically.  
   
Carey grabs a loaf of French bread and a knife and starts slicing, leaving Luke without a job so he takes a stack of napkins to Ashton at the table. He glances at his friends in the kitchen – and at Michael and Brendan outside next to the grill, through the window over the sink, Brendan telling some animated story and Michael laughing.  
   
“Havin’ a nice time?” Ashton asks.  
   
“Yes.”  
   
“You look happy. I dig it.”  
   
Luke smiles and chews at his bottom lip, at the ring he pierced through it because Michael thought it would look good on him. That day seems like such a long time ago. “I am.”  
   
“Good.”  
   
“What about you?” Luke asks. Ashton had been dating a girl for over a year, but it just ended a few weeks ago. Luke was glad it happened just before Christmas, so Ashton could go home and spend some time with his family instead of being lonely in Montreal.  
   
Ashton shrugs one shoulder, but he looks happy too. “I’m alright. Really. Stoked to be here.”  
   
“Okay. Good,” Luke says again. He puts an arm around Ashton’s shoulders and leaves it there. “This is gonna be great. And we’re gonna win the cup this year, right?”  
   
“Hell yes we will.”  
   
*           *           *


	3. tria

Luke wakes up early. Michael is still fast asleep, with one arm resting heavily across Luke’s middle and his face pushed into the pillow. Luke lies still until his bladder won’t allow it anymore, and then he extracts himself gently from Michael’s arms.  
   
“Mmpf,” Michael mumbles, stirring and momentarily tightening his hold on Luke.  
   
“Go back to sleep,” Luke whispers, kissing Michael’s hair. Michael burrows further down into the blankets and goes quiet again.  
   
Luke gets up, visits the bathroom, and then tiptoes into the kitchen. There are bodies strewn about – Carey on the couch and P.K. and Calum on the floor – because Ashton won the hand of Texas hold’em that determined who got the cabin’s second bedroom, and none of them would share the double bed with him even though he offered. When Luke makes his way into the kitchen, his socked feet silent on the tile floor, Ashton is already there. He’s standing by the sink, holding a mug, and looking out the window at the sun that’s just beginning to peek over the horizon.   
   
“Hey,” Luke whispers.  
   
Ashton turns. “Good morning. Coffee?”  
   
“Yes, please.”  
   
Ashton fills another mug from the carafe, and fixes it the way Luke likes – a little stronger now than the first time Ashton made him coffee and mocked him for all the cream and sugar, but still much sweeter than the thick, black sludge Ashton likes to drink.   
   
“Thank you,” Luke says gratefully, accepting the mug and taking a sip.   
   
“I was thinking of going down to the dock, watching the sunrise. Wanna come?”  
   
Luke wrinkles his nose up. “Could we even find the dock? It’s buried under a mile of snow.”  
   
“So we’ll stand on top of the mile of snow and hope we don’t sink up to our necks.”  
   
“Okay.”  
   
They dress in silence, layering on sweaters and coats and boots and gloves. Ashton tugs Calum’s black beanie over his messy curls. There’s a flannel hat on the table, the kind with ear flaps like Elmer Fudd would wear, and Luke pulls that on. He isn’t sure who it belongs to, but they’ll be back before anyone else wakes up so it won’t matter.   
   
The snow is deep and soft, and they do sink in as they walk, but only to their ankles. Each with a Thermos in their hand, that Ashton found in the cupboard and transferred their coffee to, they trudge down the small hill toward the mass of white that in summer would be a lake. Luke was right, there is no visible dock, but they sit between some trees on a spare jacket and stare out over the ice to the glowing horizon. It’s yellow right now, beyond the mountains, the first hints of the sun coloring the dark blue sky.  
   
“Why are you up so early?” Ashton asks.  
   
“I’m up early a lot, now,” Luke tells him. “I think it’s leftover from living with you. I got used to getting up and the crack of dawn and then when you left, that didn’t change.”  
   
“Sorry?”  
   
Luke laughs. “It’s fine. I don’t mind, actually. I like mornings, now. They’re quiet.”  
   
“Before Hurricane Michael wakes up?”  
   
“Exactly.”  
   
Ashton laughs too.   
   
“I’m sorry about Steph,” Luke says softly. Ashton’s girlfriend of over a year – they ended it two weeks ago, and Luke’s barely had a moment to talk to his friend about it, in between games and Christmas and coming up here with Michael.   
   
Ashton stares down at his hands, curled around the red travel mug. “Me too. But it’s okay. I’m okay.”  
   
“Are you all moved out of her place?”  
   
“Yeah, before Christmas I was. Didn’t want to drag it out. I probably forgot a bunch of shit that she’ll have to return to me at some point and it’ll be horrible and awkward, but. What can you do?”  
   
“How’s your family, how was the holiday?” Luke asks, changing the subject to one he knows Ashton will enjoy.  
   
Predictably, a smile lights up Ashton’s face, carving dimples into his flushed cheeks. “It was great! Harry decided he wants to be a drummer, so my mom actually got him a kit. I didn’t think she would.”  
   
“She’s going to regret that so fast.”  
   
“I know! But he’s been playing one at school, I guess, in music class, and he isn’t that bad! It’s too bad Michael wasn’t there with his guitar, they could have jammed.”  
   
“What about Lauren?”  
   
“Growing up too fast. Way too pretty. And I’m not there to beat up the boys who break her heart.”  
   
“Are there boys breaking her heart?”  
   
“I mean. Not at the moment, as far as I know. But hypothetically. That’s what a big brother does.”  
   
“Oh, I see.” Luke smiles to himself and sips his coffee.  
   
“Didn’t your brothers do that?”  
   
“A kid teased me for being chubby once in church so the next Sunday, Jack glued his butt to the pew.”  
   
“Good.”  
   
“He got in so much trouble.”  
   
“I bet he didn’t care. He stood up for you, that’s his job.”  
   
“Probably,” Luke agrees.   
   
It’s a cool, crisp morning, the kind that turns exhaled breath into tiny, sparkly ice crystals in the air. The sun is higher now, painting the sky orange and pink. Luke shivers, but he doesn’t want to go inside. It’s peaceful, here. They don’t speak for a few minutes, and then the crunch of footsteps in the snow behind them shakes Luke from a daydream. He looks, and Michael appears next to him, boots sunk into the snow and his coat unzipped.   
   
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks.  
   
“What the hell are _you_ doing?” Ashton replies. “It isn’t even seven and you’re up, is the cabin on fire?” He twists around to make sure.   
   
“I woke up and you weren’t there, so I went looking,” Michael says to Luke.   
   
“Can’t sleep alone?” Ashton asks.   
   
“Shut up. And shove over,” Michael says.  
   
They make room for him on the jacket that’s keeping their seats of their pants safe from the snow. Michael sits beside Luke and puts an arm around his shoulders.  
   
“C’mere, it’s freezing out here. I need your heat.”  
   
“Do up your coat,” Luke nags, but he leans into Michael anyway and kisses his cheek.  
   
Michael takes the Thermos from Luke’s hand. “Is this coffee, can I have some?” he asks, and then sips from it without waiting for an answer. “Jesus, you like a lot of sugar. That’s disgusting.”  
   
“So get your own.” Luke snatches the mug back from him.  
   
“I can’t, there isn’t any left. Cal drank it all.”  
   
“Poor baby,” Luke fake-sympathizes.   
   
“Remind me how long you two have been married?” Ashton teases. “Is it 50 years this spring?”  
   
“Ignore him,” Michael says. He buries his face in Luke’s shoulder, pushing his cold nose against Luke’s neck. “We are adorable.”  
   
“We probably aren’t,” Luke argues. He nudges Michael’s face with his own, finding his mouth for a kiss. “My lips are warm.”  
   
“Mm, yes they are,” Michael hums. He adds, for Ashton’s benefit, “and it’s been three years. We decided that the other night. Christmas Eve is our official anniversary.”  
   
“What should we do today?” Luke asks. “Once everyone else wakes up.”  
   
“Nap,” Michael answers. His head goes back onto Luke’s shoulder.  
   
Luke smiles. “You can go back to bed, you know.”  
   
“Don’t wanna.”  
   
“There is a snow-mobile,” Ashton starts, counting off on his fingers, “there are cross-country skis, I saw them in the closet. And there is a road covered in snow.”  
   
“You’re suggesting … something like water-skiing but on land?”  
   
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” Ashton grins.  
   
“If one of us gets hurt, Therrien will skin us alive.”  
   
“The risk makes it more fun.” Ashton gets up, and brushes the snow from his jeans. “Let’s go be loud in the kitchen so everyone else wakes up.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke is jolted awake by loud banging, repetitive and unending. His heart races instantly; Michael moves beside him.  
   
“What the fuck,” he mumbles.  
   
Someone is hammering their fist on the door, Luke realizes. Michael looks up, and then looks at Luke.   
   
“Dude, open up!” Calum’s voice calls, muted because it’s far away.  
   
“I’m gonna punch him in the nose,” Michael grumbles, as he heaves himself out of bed, crawls over Luke, and stumbles out of the room.  
   
   
Luke groans, and rubs his hands over his face. He reaches for his phone to check the time. The bright screen burns behind his eyes, and it’s only 8:30. Far too early for Calum to be waking them up on their last day off before the season restarts after the Christmas break, especially since they got home from the cabin so late last night. Luke gets reluctantly out of bed and feels around on the floor for the shirt he took off before going to sleep. He tugs it over his head, listening as the door opens and Michael snaps, “What?”  
   
“Did you hear?” Calum asks.  
   
Luke joins them in the other room, finds Calum with wide eyes and his face flushed in excitement, and Ashton right behind him.  
   
“Hear what?” Michael’s voice is scratchy and annoyed.  
   
“Are you living in the Dark Ages in here? Check your phone!” Calum flaps his arms wildly.  
   
“Maybe they were making out,” Ashton points out. He smiles at Luke, and adds, “Morning sunshine. I miss your bed-head.”  
   
“Then you should’ve moved back in here after you broke up with Steph,” Luke tells him. “This was your place first, you didn’t have to let me and Michael take it over.”  
   
Ashton shrugs. “You guys needed space and Cal had a room. He isn’t _quite_ as good a roommate as you, but I like him.”  
   
“Thanks, bro,” Calum smiles.  
   
“We weren’t making out, we were _sleeping_. Why weren’t you?” Michael says, returning to the original subject of conversation. He reaches down for his phone, and then realizes it isn’t in his pocket because he isn’t wearing pants. “I don’t keep it in my boxers next to my dick, gimme yours.”  
   
Calum holds his iPhone out, and Michael takes it. He looks at it for a moment, and then he looks back up at Calum dramatically.  
   
“Right?” Calum says gleefully.  
   
“No fucking way,” Michael breathes.  
   
“Yep!” Calum answers. “Luke too. And Carey, and P.K.”  
   
“Wait, not you and Ash?”  
   
Calum brushes it off. “We’re not as good as you. Who cares, though, you guys got it!”  
   
“It’s fine, honestly,” Ashton says, and seems to mean it. “We’re so psyched for you!”  
   
Luke looks back and forth between the three of them, waiting for them to realize he’s still there and so far still in the dark. “Um. What are we talking about?”  
   
Michael looks back at him, Calum’s phone still in his left hand. “We’re on the Olympic team.”  
   
Luke blinks. He hears the words, but they make no sense. “I’m. What?”  
   
“They announced it this morning!” Ashton says, a huge smile on his face. He looks happier for them than he would be for himself, if he’d been named as well. “You both got picked!”  
   
“Are you serious?” Luke cries.  
   
“Look!” Michael hands Calum’s phone to Luke.  
   
He scrolls through the rosters, and sees his own name and number under Team U.S.A. and Michael’s under Canada.  
   
“What?” he says again. He knew there would be winter games this year. He’d just forgotten that he’s in the NHL now, which means he was a contender for this. He grew up loving Olympic hockey. He grew up hearing stories from his dad of the Miracle on Ice in 1980 at Lake Placid. His head won’t fit around the idea that he’ll be part of this.  
   
“I’ve never been to South Korea,” Michael says, unnecessarily. None of them have.  
   
“Is this real?” Luke asks. It feels like he just got whacked over the head with an oversized mallet and there are cartoon birds doing circles in from of his eyes.  
   
“It’s real,” Ashton confirms. He walks over and hugs Luke. “Your mom is going to freak out, please can I be there when you call her?”  
   
“Will Therrien let us go?”  
   
“Of course. The league takes a break during the Olympics, you won’t miss any of our games.”  
   
As if it’s just now hit him, Michael says, “But wait, we’ll be on separate teams. I mean, you will. Pricer and Subbs are on Canada with me, but you’re not.”  
   
Calum says, “That’s what you get for falling for an American.”  
   
“Do you think they’ll let us room together?” Michael worries.  
   
Ashton rolls his eyes and laughs. “You _guys_ , you’re doing this wrong! You made the freakin’ Olympic teams! This is historic! We should to be celebrating!”  
   
“Breakfast?” Calum suggests. “Maybe too many Mimosas?”  
   
“Breakfast, yes. I am not getting day-drunk on orange juice and champagne on our last day off.” Ashton points a finger accusingly at Calum. “Not after what happened last time. Orange juice burns like hell coming back up.”  
   
“We made the Olympic teams,” Luke repeats, his heart pounding in his chest. He looks at Michael.  
   
“Holy shit,” Michael breathes. His eyes are wide; he looks just as overwhelmed as Luke feels.  
   
“Holy shit,” Luke agrees.  
   
*           *           *


	4. tessera

“I still don’t know how to process this,” Luke says. He blinks and stares out into the city lights. They’ve spent a lot of time on this roof in the last few years. Luke, more than Michael. He used to come up here with Ashton, during his first year in Montreal. And then with Michael, and then both. They did eventually let Calum in on the secret, and there have been a lot of beers consumed and stories told and laughs shared between the four of them, on the rooftop of their building, looking out over the city that brought them together. No one else knows, though. It’s still their secret.   
  
“Me neither,” Michael says. He sounds overwhelmed, and Luke feels that way too. It’s only been one day and so much has happened. “It’s the Olympics. How do you ever wrap your head around something like that?”  
  
“I didn’t think either of us were that good, to be honest,” Luke admits.   
  
Michael chuckles softly. “You’re too humble. You’re amazing, babe.”    
  
“Well, so are you. Clearly,” Luke points out.   
  
“I guess so.”  
  
“Where’s the cocky ass I met when I first got here?” Luke jokes.   
  
Michael smiles and leans over to kiss Luke’s cheek. “Was I that bad?”  
  
“Yes. At first. I fell for you anyway, though. I guess I’m a masochist or something.”  
  
“Lucky me.”  
  
“What did you actually think of me?” Luke inquires. “Like when we first met. Those first few weeks.”  
  
“I thought you were talented. And arrogant. And cute.”  
  
Luke smiles. “I wasn’t trying to be a dick. I was scared no one would like me. And that I wouldn’t be good enough.”  
  
“The only reason I didn’t feel that when I first got here is because Cal was with me. Also, I expected no one to like me.”  
   
“Do you know how this works?” Luke asks. “Who organizes like … how we get there, and stuff?”  
   
“To the Games?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
Michael blows out a breath. “I have no idea. I guess we’ll find out. Are you excited?”  
   
“Not yet. It doesn’t feel real, yet.”  
   
“I know.”  
   
“Where will we stay?”  
   
“Isn’t there usually like an athletes’ village? Where everyone stays?”  
   
“Oh.” Luke did know that, but he’d forgotten. “I guess so.”  
   
“We’ll figure everything out.” Michael’s arms go around Luke’s waist and his lips find Luke’s cheek again, and then his mouth.  
   
Luke drapes his arms over Michael’s shoulders and kisses back, lips sliding together, warm and practiced and old but still brand new every time.  
   
“Let’s go to bed,” Michael says. “Practice early tomorrow.”  
   
“Okay.”  
   
Michael takes Luke’s hand, laces their fingers together, and leads him back down the stairs into the building. An older man gives them a funny look as they pass in the hallway. Luke doesn’t know if it’s because he recognizes them, or because they’re holding hands. The later still happens, from time to time, but Luke’s learned how to ignore it.  
   
Kellin twirls himself around their ankles in greeting as they walk in the door, and Michael closes it and shoves Luke up against the wood to kiss him again.  
   
“I thought we were going to sleep.” Luke’s hands find Michael’s waist anyway, sliding his fingers under the fabric of his jacket to feel his warm skin.  
   
“I didn’t say sleep. I said bed.” Michael nips at Luke’s lip-ring. He pushes up against Luke, kissing him hard, his thigh lifting and pressing against Luke’s crotch. Luke feels off-balance, momentarily unsteady as blood flies south and collects where Michael’s leg is rubbing. Then Michael pulls away abruptly, rips away his warmth and the pressure, and takes off towards the bedroom. Luke takes a deep breath and follows.  
   
“Strip,” Michael tells him, his shirt already off, and Luke listens. Michael is naked first, and he comes over and holds Luke’s face and kisses him, and Luke stumbles, trying to rid himself of jeans and socks and not have to detach his mouth from Michael’s in the process.  
   
Still, something Luke was thinking about today and meant to mention on the roof is nagging in his brain, and he wants to get it out before he forgets again. And, before he chickens out. Because once Michael knows, he’ll make Luke do it, and Luke is worried he’ll back out if left to his own devices. “I was thinking.”  
   
“Mmhm,” Michael hums. His fingers curl over Luke’s hips, pressing into the muscle. He doesn’t stop kissing, either, and Luke has to talk around Michael’s tongue, where it’s probing between his lips.  
   
“I wanna get a tattoo.”  
   
At that, Michael does stop. His head tilts to the side, and he blinks up at Luke, his eyes widening. “You do?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“Of what?”  
   
“Of … um. The rings. Like the Olympic ones, that are all the colors.”  
   
Michael blinks again. “You thought of this just now?”  
   
“No, I wanted to get one for a while. I just didn’t know what to get. And then after today, I don’t know. I know that’s what everyone does so it isn’t original or anything but, I thought that would be cool. To, like … remember it.”  
   
Michael grins. “I love that. Yes, definitely. Where?”  
   
Luke shrugs. “My arm, maybe?” He points to the spot on his inner forearm, just underneath the joint of his elbow. “Maybe there?”  
   
Michael’s fingers ghost over the spot. “Perfect.” He turns them around and pushes Luke down onto the bed. “Later, I wanna talk about it a lot. Right now, shut up.”  
   
He crawls over Luke and blankets him, and Luke rocks his hips up into Michael’s as they kiss. Michael’s tongue goes back into his mouth, soft and warm, and dances around Luke’s until he’s gasping, lungs fighting for air. Michael reaches to the side as they kiss, opening the bedside drawer one handedly and feeling around for what they need. Luke’s head is spinning, and he needs everything to speed up, but wants it to slow down and last forever at the same time.  
   
Michael sits up, and Luke follows him, reaching for him, curling his fingers around the back of Michael’s neck and bringing his forehead down so they rest together. He doesn’t say anything. Michael’s lips ghost just barely against his. There are different versions, different ways that they do this. Sometimes it’s quick and raw and passionate, other times it’s playful and casual and they laugh the whole time. This time, for no reason Luke can explain, it feels important. It feels heavy, like it means something tonight that it didn’t yesterday.  
  
  
Luke reaches up, trailing his fingertips down Michael’s pale cheek. He can see Michael’s eyes flutter closed and lets his own close as well. Their breath syncs up, sharing the air in the space between their lips.  
  
Eyes still closed, he blindly reaches out and takes the lube from Michael’s fingers, tossing it aside on the mattress. Michael goes to pull away but Luke reaches up with his other hand and grabs the back of Michael’s neck, keeping him right where he is.  
   
“Will you go with me?” Luke whispers. “To get tattooed?”  
  
Michael nods and wraps one arm around Luke’s waist, gently laying him back against the mattress. They move together, lips meeting somewhere in the middle and Luke can feel Michael relax into the kiss. Michael shifts, moving so he’s between Luke’s legs, one hand sliding down his thigh, fingers digging into the muscle. His other hand comes up to tangle in Luke’s hair, using the hold to tilt his head and deepen the kiss even more. Luke’s head is swimming pleasantly and he can’t really breathe properly with Michael’s weight crushing his chest and Michael’s tongue in his mouth but it’s so good that he never wants to stop. Michael grinds down a bit, their bare cocks rubbing together again and Luke pulls away from the addictive slide of Michael’s lips with a gasp, his head pressing back into the pillow, muscles in his neck flexing.  
  
Michael shifts, kissing down over Luke’s collarbone, nipping and sucking at his stomach, over his hips, the sensitive skin just inside the bone. He stops when he gets low enough, and winks before taking Luke’s cock between his lips. The feeling overwhelms him and Luke moans, his back arching off the mattress, his hips shaking with the want to thrust up into that delicious, wet heat but Michael’s hands clamp down on his waist, keeping him pressed against the mattress. Luke can already feel the slow burn of his orgasm pooling low in his stomach – never is able to last long when Michael does this. He reaches down, scrambling to try and grab a hold of any part that he can reach, just barely able to mutter a choked-off, “Michael.”  
  
But then Michael pulls away right before Luke’s about to explode, wiping over his lips with the back of his hand, and Luke’s whole body shudders at being denied the release he needed more than air. Luke tries to reach out but Michael just shakes his head, crawling back up the bed and lying down on his side tucked up close to Luke, his head propped up on one hand. Michael smiles softly and pushes the sweaty hair off Luke’s forehead and then kisses it, holding up the bottle of clear gel for Luke to see and quirking an eyebrow.  
   
“You or me?” Michael asks.  
   
“Me this time.” Luke taps his bottom lip with his finger, asking for a kiss that Michael gives him.  
  
Luke gasps softly when Michael reaches down and his lube-slick fingers slide over his skin. Michael circles one finger around the rim, just a teasing, light pressure that doesn’t come anywhere close to breaching. Then he presses forward slowly. Luke smiles up at him, reaching one hand down to lightly trail his fingers up the underside of Michael’s still hard cock. Michael moans softly, his eyelashes fluttering a bit and his jaw clenches.  
   
“Don’t need to go so slow,” Luke tells him, in a whisper.  
   
“Maybe I want to,” Michael answers.  
  
Luke nods and moves a bit, letting his legs fall open further. Michael’s fingers move inside him, finding the spot that has sparks of pleasure firing through Luke’s veins. Luke shivers, and Michael chuckles softly and leans in, kissing him slow and deep and thorough.  
  
“C’mon,” Luke urges. He was on board with slow too, until it was happening and now he’s impatient.  
  
“Pushy,” Michael mumbles, nuzzling under Luke’s jaw, rubbing his fingers against Luke’s prostate again, lightly, just barely-there.  
  
“Stop teasing, then,” Luke gasps, the happy little twinges spreading all the way to his toes.  
  
Michael chuckles again and Luke feels oddly empty when Michael pulls his fingers away, even though he’s so used to everything about this after so many years. He whimpers again, softly in the back of his throat before he can stop it. Michael’s eyes go soft and kind of liquid and he leans down again, kissing Luke slow and sweet.  
  
Luke watches as Michael pours more lube in his palm and reaches down to slick himself up. His green eyes close and a shaky moan spills from his bitten-red lips, his head falling forward slightly. Then he inhales and repositions himself between Luke’s legs, one hand clamped down around the base of his cock as he lines himself up. It stings just for a second as he pushes in, the stretch that’s just a bit too much to be completely comfortable. Then Luke breathes and melts into the mattress. Something thick and a lot like emotion swells in his throat, makes his hard to catch his breath.  
   
Michael smiles unsteadily, running one hand through Luke’s hair. “You good?” he asks hoarsely and Luke doesn’t bother with embarrassment because Michael seems overwhelmed too.  
  
“Yeah,” Luke whispers. “M’good.”  
  
Michael kisses him softly as he slowly draws his hips back, almost all the way out before sliding in again; setting up a slow, steady pace. It’s soul-deep and full and too much. Michael’s cock skates over that sweet spot and Luke’s vision goes fuzzy and it takes a couple of seconds to blink it back to clear. Michael grins down at him, eyes bright and crinkling at the corners.  
  
“Like that?” he asks softly, still managing to be cocky even when he’s being sweet at the same time.  
  
Luke grunts. “More, Michael.”  
  
Michael smirks a bit but picks up the pace. They settle into a rhythm, moving together in a way that feels easy and fluid, and Luke wraps his arms around Michael’s back and hooks his ankles over the backs of Michael’s knees and doesn’t let go.  
   
“Wanna come like this?” Michael asks. His voice shakes; he’s almost there too.  
   
“Yeah,” Luke murmurs. He barely gets the word out before his stomach quivers and he falls over the edge, heat pooling and spreading and his arms holding Michael too tightly. Michael swears softly and his hips jerking and Luke feels it all, too bright and too loud.  
  
Luke’s chest heaves as he breathes, and Michael drops himself down on top of Luke and lies there for just a minute. Luke can’t think straight. He just feels. When Michael moves, he’s gone for just a moment, shifting off Luke and dropping to the mattress beside him. Michael blinks and stares into Luke’s eyes with an expression on his face that’s full of so many things Luke can’t even begin to decipher them all.  
   
“Will you still love me if the U.S. kicks Canada’s ass at the Games?” Luke asks. It isn’t what he meant to say, but it’s what comes out.  
  
Michael just considers him for a moment, but then he smiles, and then he _laughs_ , sparkling and warm like honey. “Yes, dork. Although there’s no way. Canada owns hockey.” He reaches for Luke, sliding his arms around Luke’s back and Luke shifts in as close as he can and lays his head on Michael’s shoulder.  
   
“You should get rings done on you, too,” Luke tells him. “Not in the same spot, necessarily, but. We’ll both be there. We’re both gonna be official Olympians.”  
   
“You want us to have matching tattoos?”  
   
“I mean. They’ll match but it isn’t like our names in hearts or something cheesy.”  
   
“You want us to have matching tattoos,” Michael says again, not as a question this time. He wants Luke to say it.  
   
Luke smiles and kisses Michael’s shoulder. “Okay. Yes. I do.”  
   
“Okay.”  
   
“Yeah? You don’t think it’s stupid?”  
   
“I think it’s romantic.”  
   
“Good.”  
   
“Good,” Michael repeats.


	5. pent

Luke has almost nothing to do with planning anything. It all gets worked out, and he just sort of goes with it because there seems to be a system in place. Someone – Luke doesn’t even know who – books plane tickets for him and Michael and Carey and P.K., and he gets an email about a room where he’ll stay, with a roommate whose name he isn’t given but it isn’t Michael. It’s another player from the American team.  
   
“It’s because you’re on different teams,” Ashton points out, when Michael rolls his eyes and mutters something about it being dumb that they aren’t allowed to room together.  
   
“Oh,” Michael says. He’d been thinking the reason was more sinister. “Oh, yeah. That’s probably it.”  
   
They get a package in the mail, in late January, with lists of what they’re supposed to bring, and instructions on when they’ll need to arrive at the airport on February 8th and where they’ll need to meet the rest of their country’s athletes once they arrive in PyeongChang, and where in Montreal to be vaccinated for Typhoid and Hepatitis A, and other house-keeping type things.  
   
Luke’s mom and dad are more excited than he is, and have been scrambling to book their own tickets and find a hotel room in a city that seems almost full. It’s expensive, between a flight halfway around the world and lodgings and tickets to the games. Luke keeps telling them he’ll pay for it – three years’ salary as a starter in the NHL, and one of the better players on his team, and Luke has the money to do it – but his dad is too proud and so far has refused. Luke has his mom and Jack working on convincing him to reconsider. He wants them there, he wants his family in the stands, but they aren’t rich by any stretch of the imagination and he doesn’t want them breaking the bank to do it. They have spent more than enough money on him already over the years. Elite hockey wasn't cheap.  
   
Mostly, he just wants them there. He wants to look up into the stands, in a sweater that says U.S.A., representing his country on the global stage, and see his family there supporting them. He wishes Michael’s mom could be there too. Luke hopes his own family has adopted Michael enough that it will be at least _something_ , having them around to watch the Canadian games too. When Canada and The States play each other, Luke almost has to wonder who his mom will be cheering for. Sometimes he suspects she likes Michael more than she likes him. He’s okay with it, though.  
   
*           *           *  
   
It’s the 25th of January, and it’s Calum’s 22nd birthday. By happy coincidence, they don’t have a game tonight, and they’re in Montreal because they play the next night. There will be a huge crowd. Michael rented a whole room at a restaurant downtown – Calum’s favorite; a Mexican place that serves the world’s best guacamole and margaritas in fish bowls – because the guest list for dinner kept getting longer and eventually there wasn’t a table big enough to seat everyone. It isn’t _quite_ a surprise, Calum knows about it, but he thinks it’s just the four of them. He doesn’t know half the team will be here, and their wives and girlfriends, and his parents, and his sister. She lives in London, now, but Ashton flew her in as a birthday present. Calum is going to freak out and Luke can’t wait.   
   
The room is on the second floor of the restaurant, and there is a huge rooftop patio that they have access to, even though it’s the middle of winter. There’s a fire-pit and kerosene heaters. Inside, there is a small stage for the band Michael hired. It’s all way bigger and more elaborate than Calum is expecting. Michael is distracting him, right now, while Luke and Ashton hang streamers and balloons and make the place look cheesy and tacky and like a birthday party for a school-aged child, just because Ash thought it would be funny.   
   
“This looks ridiculous,” Luke says, standing back to survey their work. They couldn’t decide on a color scheme so Ashton just bought every color balloon he could find from the dollar store. “It looks like a Pride float exploded in here.”  
   
“What’s wrong with that?” Ashton asks, poking him in the side.  
   
“Don’t do that. What, just because I’m sleeping with a dude, I automatically have to love rainbows?”  
   
“Who doesn’t love rainbows?” Ashton reasons. “Do you also hate puppies and ice cream? And, also, _sleeping_ with? After all this time he isn’t more to you then that?”  
   
Luke rolls his eyes, because Ashton knows better than anyone how untrue that statement is. “Dating. Living with. Madly in love with. Whatever.”  
   
“Whatever,” Ashton agrees, with a smug grin cutting dimples into his cheeks. “I think it looks great. And this is all just extras, it’s not like Calum is actually going to care about the décor.”  
   
“At least not after a few fish-bowls.”  
   
“It looks like a Pride parade in here,” a voice from behind them comments loudly.  
   
They turn – Brendan and P.K. are in the doorway, with Max and his wife Katia peeking over their shoulders.  
   
“I told you!” Luke says to Ashton.  
   
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Brendan continues. He moves further into the room and surveys the mess of decorations. “Love yourself, Hemmings.”  
   
Ashton giggles and Luke glares at him.  
   
“Will you just go get Cal? People are arriving.”  
   
“I thought Michael was bringing Cal.”  
   
“No, Michael is bringing a keg. Cal can’t see that, or he’ll know something’s up. I knew you weren’t listening when we discussed this yesterday.”  
   
Ashton waves it off. “Fine, I’m going. He’s at the apartment?”  
   
“Yes. Don’t bring him right back, either. Give people a while to arrive.”  
   
“Okay, I’m gone.” Ashton fishes his keys from his pocket and claps P.K. on the shoulder as he passes, on his way out the door.  
   
“How many are we expecting?” P.K. asks.  
   
“I don’t even know where it ended up. A lot,” Luke answers. Katia comes over and hugs him, in greeting. “Hi.”  
   
“Hi, honey.” She smiles and pats his cheek. “It looks great in here, don’t listen to them.”  
   
“I never do,” Luke tells her.  
   
Carey and his wife turn up next, and then Calum’s parents, and then Michael with the keg. Twenty minutes later the place is hopping, Latin music filtering through the speakers from the stage and drinks flowing and waiters passing around appetizers. Luke and Michael are in the corner, chatting with Max and Katia, when suddenly Michael goes silent and stares across the room.  
   
“She’s here,” he says quietly.   
  
Luke looks up. A girl with bleached blond hair and Calum’s eyes just walked through the door.  
   
“Cal’s sister?” Max surmises, and when Luke nods at him, they drift off in the direction of the patio – realizing they’re about to be replaced.  
   
She spots Michael right away, and waves enthusiastically. If Luke did that he would look like an idiot, but Mali makes it effortless and cool. She makes her way over through the crowd, pushing eagerly through hockey players nearly twice her size to get to them. Luke glances at Michael, and he’s smiling so brightly.   
  
“Hi kiddo!” Mali exclaims. Luke gets to look at her for just a moment before she pulls Michael into a big hug, and she’s stunning. He’s seen pictures, and they didn’t do her justice even remotely. Her smile lights her whole face up, like Calum’s does.   
  
“You look beautiful,” Michael tells her. He hugs her so tightly.   
  
“You too! I love the blue.” She tousles his hair with her hand. “It’s so good to see you, always too long since the last time.”  
  
“I know.” Michael pulls back, and her finger taps his left ear, where it’s been pierced three more times since they saw each other over the summer.   
  
“What does the league think of all this metal in your face?”  
  
Michael shrugs. “I take them out for games so I don’t think they care, really.”  
  
“Good. Anyone else giving you a hard time lately? Anyone I need to beat up?”  
  
Michael smiles wider. “No, I’m good.”  
  
“Keep me posted. Gotta look out for my second little brother.”  
  
Luke gets sudden imaginary flashes of Michael’s teenage years, of both Mali and Calum so protective of him once they knew what his father had been doing. It makes him feel warm inside, to know Michael wasn’t ever truly alone. Michael doesn’t need anyone else fighting his battles anymore, fully capable of protecting himself now, but Luke loves that she wants to defend him anyway.  
  
Finally, Mali manages to take her eyes off Michael, and they flick to the side, and meet with Luke’s. She presses her lips together and says to Michael in an excited voice, “is this him?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“He’s hot!” she whispers, to Michael, but loud enough for everyone else to hear.   
  
“I know,” Michael agrees. “Luke, this is Mali Koa, Calum’s older sister.”   
  
“And yours,” Mali reprimands, lightly snacking Michael’s shoulder. She turns to Luke and hugs him before she even says hello. She smells like oranges.   
  
“Nice to meet you,” Luke laughs, squeezed in her skinny arms.   
  
“Let me look at you!” She holds his face in her hands and examines him. “At the boy Calum _promises_ me is good enough for our Mikey.”  
  
“Mali,” Michael complains.   
  
“I’m not saying he isn’t!” She smiles at him and lets go of his cheeks. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Stay good enough for him, though.”  
  
Luke nods. “I will.” He reaches for Michael’s hand, pulling Michael in closer and then wrapping his arm around Michael’s shoulders so he can kiss his temple. “I love him more than anything.”  
   
Mali’s eyes go liquid and she clasps her hands in front of her mouth. “Oh. Good.”  
   
“Wanna see your parents?” Michael asks.  
   
She nods, and the two of them disappear in the crowd.  
   
Luke hangs back, and looks out over the party. Calum is going to love it. Just then, his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he reads the text from Ashton, saying they’re in the parking lot.  
   
“Okay, uh, guys!” Luke yells, trying to be heard over the din. “Cal’s coming!”  
   
“Should we hide?!” Brendan cries.  
   
“Where would we hide?” P.K. laughs. “No, dude, just yell surprise when he walks in.”  
   
They wait a minute, maybe, and then voices ring out in the hallway and Calum and Ashton walk into the room. Calum is in the middle of asking where they’re going, and then he stops short when he sees. His mouth falls open. Everyone does yell surprise, and Calum gapes at them all.  
   
“What the hell?” he asks.  
   
“Happy birthday!” Brendon shouts, and everyone cheers.  
   
“No fucking way, you – ” Calum begins, and then he spots his sister. “Oh my God.”  
   
“Hi,” she says, with a sparkly laugh.  
   
“How did – ?”  
   
Mali nods in Ashton’s direction. “Thank your roommate.”  
   
“Happy birthday, buddy.” Ashton smiles, and Calum shakes his head and hugs him. Then he goes to Mali, and picks her up and twirls her around.  
   
*           *           *  
   
It’s an amazing night. Luke has so much fun, socializing with people he sees every day but not usually in this sort of setting. They all eat way too much, and Calum looks so happy, even though Michael keeps hogging Mali and he has to fight for his own sister’s attention. Luke doesn’t see much of Ashton – he’s the most social of all of them, and he’s drifting in and out of various conversations, spreading himself around the party – but Luke makes eye contact with him from across the room now and then, and Ashton grins and gives him a thumbs-up.  
   
Luke steps onto the patio for some air, leaning against the railing underneath one of the heaters and shivering anyway in the cold January evening. A body appears next to him immediately, and he’s met by Mali’s blinding smile.  
   
“Having fun?” she asks.  
   
“Yes.” Luke smiles too. “Needed a break, though. It’s loud in there.”  
   
“Me too.” She tosses her long hair, and leans against the railing on her elbows, standing close to him. “It sucks that it took so long for us to meet, you know.”  
   
“I never stop hearing about you,” Luke tells her, and it’s the truth. Between Michael and Calum gushing, and Brendan jokingly begging Calum for her number, someone is always talking about her.  
   
“Good things, I hope?”  
   
“Entirely.”  
   
“I hear good things about you, too. From Michael, obviously. He’s nuts about you. But from Cal, too, and he’s less trusting than Michael is. He says you’re great together, you and Michael.”  
   
Luke chews at his bottom lip. “I definitely think so.”  
   
“I don’t get to see him as much now, as I did when we were teenagers. Michael, I mean.” Mali sniffs, the cold wind making her nose run. “When I do, though, he’s always going on about you. He really loves you. You know that, right?”  
   
Luke nods. The thought of Michael talking about him, when he isn’t around, makes him smile. “I do. I really love him back.”  
   
“I can tell. That’s good, he deserves someone good. Someone like you.”  
   
“Just so you know, Calum gave me the whole _if you ever hurt him_ speech a long time ago. He’s a good friend.”  
   
Mali laughs softly. “That is good. It’s a bit late for me to do it, anyway.”  
   
“You don’t need to worry,” Luke promises her. He looks at her, as he speaks, and he’s much better at this now than he was when they first started dating – when Luke was just getting used to admitting to the world that he was with a boy. “Michael means everything to me. I know all about his life, his mom and his dad. And what your family did for him.”  
   
Mali shrugs. “Anyone would have.”  
   
“That’s not true. You’re special people. You’re so important to him.”  
   
Mali sniffs again, and wipes her eyes instead of her nose this time. “Look at us, getting all mushy. Must be the wine.”  
   
“I didn’t have any.”  
   
“Me neither.”  
   
“We both just love Michael a lot, I guess.” Luke lifts his arm up and lets Mali tuck herself under it, to keep warm.  
   
“I guess we do.”  
   
“I heard my name, are you talking about me?” Michael’s voice asks. He comes up behind them, and drapes his arms over them both from behind. His chin goes on top of Mali’s head.  
   
“Just making sure your boy treats you right,” Mali says.  
   
“He does,” Michael assures. He winks and Luke, and Luke purses his lips – blowing Michael a kiss.  
   
“I’ll stop grilling him, then.” Mali wipes her eyes again.  
   
“Can you quit monopolizing my damn sister?” Calum demands, appearing out of nowhere and tugging Mali out of their hug. “Come dance with me?”  
   
Mali laughs. “Okay.”  
   
They go, and Michael watches them, and then turns back to Luke and pulls him into a kiss that lasts longer than Luke is expecting. Michael’s lips are warm, and Luke gets lost in them.  
   
“Love you,” Michael whispers.  
   
“Love you more,” Luke whispers back.  
   
*           *           *


	6. eksi

“Call me when you land,” Liz says. She isn’t asking. Mothers never do. “The _moment_ you land. None of this when-I-get-to-the-hotel nonsense. I want to know you’re safe the minute it’s true.”  
   
“I will,” Luke promises.   
   
“We’re so proud of you,” she continues, her voice thick and strained. “All of us. Your dad, and Ben and Jack. And Grandma and Grandpa, and all your old coaches, and just … everyone. This is such an incredible thing. I’ve been telling everyone I’ve spoken to in the last few weeks, I’m sure they’re all sick of me by now.”  
   
“Thanks.” Luke bites his bottom lip. He looks at Michael, across the hall, waiting with their bags at the start of the line for security. Calum and Ashton are standing with him. They’re chatting, while Michael stares off into space. He’s probably nervous, like Luke is, although he’d never admit it. Carey and P.K. already went through; they’ll meet them at the gate in a few minutes.   
   
“We’ll be there next week. Don’t score any goals without us.”  
   
Luke laughs, and in the background someone else laughs too. Luke can't see through the phone but it sounds like Jack. “Mom, he’s not gonna _not_ score just because we’re not there to see it.”  
   
“Well, he should!”  
   
“Well, he won’t.” There’s rustling, and then Jack’s voice is louder, right in the mouthpiece. “Kick ass out there, kid. And we’ll be there soon to cheer you on.”  
   
“Tell mom the plane isn’t gonna crash. I think she’s worried.”  
   
“Are you under the impression I have the power to make her stop worrying about her favorite son?” Jack asks wryly.  
   
“You’re all my favorite!” Liz demands, her voice small.  
   
“Okay. True. But tell her anyway.”  
   
Liz says something else that Luke can’t make out, far away and muffled, and Jack relays; “She says tell Michael we love him too.”  
   
Luke smiles. “I will. I gotta go, though, man. We’re boarding soon.”  
   
“Good luck!”  
   
“Bye.” Luke hangs up. He wishes a little that they were coming sooner, but it’s far and expensive and he’s mostly just excited they’re coming at all. He’s anxious, too. About everything.   
   
“Okay, boys. Break a leg, or whatever,” Ashton is saying, as Luke walks over to them.  
   
“That’s for theatre, idiot.” Calum rolls his eyes. “Now one of them _is_ going to break a leg, and it’ll be your fault.”  
   
Ashton wiggles his fingers, like a witch casting a spell in a cartoon. “I am all powerful.”  
   
“You’re annoying,” Michael corrects, but hugs him anyway. “We should get going, don’t wanna miss the damn flight.”  
   
“Have so much fun.” Calum hugs Michael too, and holds him there a lot longer than Ashton did. “You fuckin’ did it, Butch. Your mom would be so proud, okay?”  
   
Michael nods, and just a flicker of emotion passes over his features. “Yeah. Thanks, Sundance.”  
   
Calum hugs Luke, and then Ashton, and Ashton holds Luke’s face for a moment and squishes his cheeks like an elderly aunt. “Be brilliant.”  
   
“I’ll try. See you soon!” Luke picks up his duffel and swings it over his shoulder. He starts to follow Michael toward the end of the line of passengers.   
   
“You might see us sooner than you think!” Ashton calls.   
   
Luke frowns and looks back, and Calum is laughing and covering Ashton’s mouth with his hand and dragging him away. Luke turns back to Michael. “They’re coming, aren’t they? They’re gonna just show up at some point, we’ll just look up into the stands and see their bare chests with our faces painted on them.”  
   
Michael grins. “I think so. Calum didn’t say it in so many words last night but he was hinting heavily, all while pretending not to be. If it’s supposed to be a surprise, they really suck at surprises.”  
   
“They didn’t need to do this. It’s not a cheap flight.” Luke knows because he finally convinced his dad to let him pay for theirs.  
   
“Wouldn’t you, if it was them?”  
   
“Yes,” Luke answers immediately, and then understands Michael’s point. “Okay. You’re right.”  
   
Michael nods toward the line. “Let’s go. Subbs and Price are waiting.”  
   
The line isn’t too long, and it goes quickly. A woman in a bright orange hijāb who examines their bags through the x-ray machine recognizes them, and giddily tells them how big a fan she is, and that she’s excited to watch them in Korea.   
   
“You’re not on the same team, though!” she says, as if she’s worried they might not be aware of it. “Won’t that be hard?”  
   
“We’ll be fine,” Michael assures her, with a charming smile. He’s learned how to be nicer to fans, now that they’re a lot nicer to him, for the most part. “You find a way to leave it all on the ice.”  
   
“It’s easier than it sounds, actually,” Luke adds.  
   
Michael takes his hand and kisses the back of it, and he’s so cheesy and Luke wants to roll his eyes but he doesn’t, because it’s sweet.  
   
“Alright.” She nods; reassured. “Good. Well don’t get hurt! We need you for the playoffs.”  
   
Carey and P.K. are waiting at the gate, lounging on a couch by the window, Carey sitting and scrolling through his phone and P.K. stretched out with his feet in Carey’s lap. They look up when Luke and Michael approach, but they don’t say anything. Luke sits on a bench nearby, and Michael sits with him.  
   
“Promise me something,” Luke says; reminded by what the TSA agent said. He meant to bring this up last night, and then a bunch of guys from the team went out together to celebrate the four of them who made Olympic teams, and Luke had a few beers and a lot of fun and all serious matters slipped his mind. And today he’s just been mildly stressed since he woke up – worrying he hasn’t packed the right things and checking his ticket twenty times because he was paranoid about getting the time wrong and missing the flight.  
   
“What?”  
   
“No matter what happens, we’re still good. If Canada wins Gold, I won’t hate you. And if the States wins, you can’t hate me.”  
   
“Are you serious?”  
   
“Yes. Why?”  
   
Michael smiles at him and kisses his cheek. “It would be amazing to win Olympic Gold. But it isn’t more important than you and me.”  
   
“Really?”  
   
“Really. I promise, no matter what happens, we’re fine.”  
   
Luke nods. “Me too. If you guys win, I’ll be happy for you.”  
   
“If you win, I’ll be happy for you too.”  
   
“Would you stop being cute and come on?” P.K. says, appearing out of nowhere next to them. “We’re boarding, they just announced it.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke stretches, trying in vain to get his long legs momentarily straightened out in the miniscule amount of space. They’re in first class, but it’s still cramped because Luke is so tall. There’s so much of the flight left. Luke is used to four, five hour flights at the absolute most. This is going to be a new level of long.  
   
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Michael says quietly.   
   
“Okay,” Luke answers, absent-minded and not really paying attention. He turns the page of the magazine he’s looking at. It’s just the in-flight one, the one they provide in the seat pocket next to the safety instructions and the bag people are supposed to puke in if they get motion sickness, so it isn’t particularly interesting. It’s a lot of advertisements for things like golf clubs and expensive perfume, and articles on vacation destinations the airline flies to like Madrid and Tahiti. He finished the one book he thought to bring already, though, and they’ve only been in the air for five hours.   
   
“No.” Michael shifts, and looks at Luke. “I’m saying … I’m going. That’s where I’ll be.”  
   
Luke frowns. “What?”  
   
Michael sighs, and then laughs. His eyebrows raise, like he’s communicating an important secret. “I’m gonna be in the bathroom. The one at the back, on the left. Maybe in five minutes, you might need to use it too.”  
   
He gets up, and crawls over Luke, and disappears down the aisle toward the back of the plane. Luke stares after him in confusion for just a moment, and then he _gets_ it, and his face explodes into a blush.  
   
“Oh,” he says out loud, to no one in particular, grimacing awkwardly when the woman in the seat across the aisle looks up at the noise.  
   
He’s never done that before. All the flights he’s been on in the last three years have been full of his teammates, so Michael’s never suggested it. This flight only has four of them, and it’s an enormous plane since it’s flying over an ocean – to London, where they’ll transfer to one heading for South Korea. Luke looks around nervously; making sure no one is watching him. Of course they aren’t, everyone is reading or watching movies on the headrest TVs or sleeping. No one cares about him, but Luke still feels like hundreds of eyes are on him suddenly even though they aren’t. He counts to sixty in his head, slowly so it’s likely closer to three minutes than two, and then unbuckles his seatbelt and gets up. He smooths his shirt down, and tries to be casual, and probably in result looks anything but.   
   
They’re seated at the front, so the plane seems long as Luke makes his way to the back. He sees P.K. and Carey on the way. He’d forgotten they were sitting a few rows behind him and Michael. Carey is asleep, but P.K. smiles widely at him, white teeth gleaming, like he knows exactly what’s up and the thought almost makes Luke turn back. Instead he returns the smile, trying to look innocent and definitely failing spectacularly.   
   
“Get some,” P.K. whispers as Luke passes, and Luke’s stomach lurches and _after_ he has some fun with Michael in the bathroom, he’s going to kill him because this is a million miles past embarrassing.   
   
There is a flight attendant in the area at the back of the plane where they keep the drinks, and she smiles kindly at Luke when he approaches, and then thankfully leaves and heads for the front with a large bottle of Dasani water in her hand and a tower of plastic cups. Luke presses his lips together, his heart beating into his throat, and knocks softly on the left bathroom door. The latch switches from _occupied_ to _vacant_ , and it opens just a little and Michael peeks out. With a smirk, he reaches for Luke’s hand to pull him inside.   
   
It’s tiny, because bathrooms on airplanes are always tiny and that’s why when people do this in movies it always ends up going hilariously wrong. Luke manages to squish inside with Michael but just barely, and he bangs his elbow on the sink trying to do so.   
   
“This is such a stupid idea,” Luke mutters.  
   
Michael quirks an eyebrow. “So go back to your seat.”  
   
“No,” Luke says stubbornly, and hates the smug grin on Michael’s face. “Shut up.”  
   
Michael’s arms circle around his waist, and he tilts his head up and kisses next to Luke’s mouth. “It’s a long trip. Just trying to kill some time.”  
   
“We aren’t even halfway there,” Luke reminds him. “Not even close, actually.”  
   
“Will you just stop talking and kiss me? We probably don’t have long before we get caught.”  
   
“You’re not suggesting we actually fuck, are you? Is there even room?”  
   
“You think too much.” Michael presses his lips into Luke’s and drags his fingers down Luke’s chest, digging into the muscle. When they get low enough they play along the waistband of his jeans. Luke shivers.   
  
“What are we doing?” He asks, his own fingers sliding up into Michael’s fading blue hair.   
  
“Hands,” Michael says, undoing Luke’s jeans and shoving his hand inside between kisses. He rubs with his palm, and Luke melts under his touch. Michael affects him so much by doing so little, even after all this time. They still might get caught and that would be mortifying, plus P.K. would tell everyone they know and never let them forget it as long as they’re teammates and maybe even longer, but right at this moment Luke is willing to accept the risk.


	7. efta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [rhymeelephantspoetry](http://rhymeelephantspoetry.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for providing me with cultural info about South Korea so my North American self doesn't insult a place I know nothing about! :)

The airport in Seoul looks like a space station. Nothing like the ones Luke is used to. It’s like something out of a Star Trek movie or the Jetsons cartoons he used to watch with Ben and Jack while they ate cereal on Saturday mornings. But it’s so much better than a cartoon because it’s _real_ , Luke is in it. Surrounded by it. Everything is white and glass, rounded architecture and mechanical walkways and blinking lights. Staff bustle past them in crisp uniforms, and patrons with fancy rolling suitcases. Everything is moving, humming like a beehive, but it’s all moving so smoothly, so perfectly orchestrated. No one bumps into each other, there are no families with kids lagging behind or tourists with their noses buried in maps not realizing they’re holding up lines. They only pause for a moment to stare but Luke feels like they’re in everyone’s way, marring the organized chaos.  
   
“Whoa,” Carey says softly, looking up – way up, to a vaulted ceiling high above them, with skywalks crisscrossing over their heads.  
   
“Paging Mr. Spock,” P.K. jokes.  
   
“It’s incredible,” Michael mumbles. He sounds reverent. Luke can’t remember how to make his mouth form words.  
   
Someone speaks from behind them, in a bouncy language Luke doesn’t understand but still picks up on the point – _move_. They do, following others from their flight through hallways and down two escalators, to the baggage claim area. The bags come quickly, efficient like everything else in this place. Just as Luke is wondering where they’re supposed to go next, a girl comes up to them. Glossy black hair sits on the tops of her shoulders, and her smile is so wide it nearly makes her dark eyes disappear. She’s wearing sky-high heels; without them, her head would barely reach Luke’s elbow.  
   
“Olympics?” she asks them. She looks at the clipboard in her hand, and then adds. “Hockey, yes? From Canada?”  
   
P.K. nods. “Yes, that’s right.”  
   
“Welcome! We have a car for you.” She gestures toward a set of sliding glass doors at the other end of the hallway. “I am Min-ji, I will show you. Here, from the Committee.” She hands them each a packet, papers stapled together in an envelope. They thank her, and then she gestures again, and they follow her through the doors and out onto the street.  
   
Luke blinks in the sunlight. It’s midday, here, although to Luke it feels like the middle of the night, both because of the time change and the long flight. There is a black SUV parked that Min-ji points at.  
   
“He will take you to the train. It is one hour to PyeongChang.”  
   
“Thank you so much,” Carey says kindly, as they load their bags into the back of the SUV. Their gear will come later, on another plane, so their luggage is small enough to fit.  
   
“Are we supposed to tip her?” Michael whispers to Luke.  
   
“I don’t know. Besides, all we have is Canadian money,” Luke whispers back.  
   
She waves at them as they climb into the car and drive away, though, and doesn’t look upset, so Luke relaxes a little. It’s only a few minutes to the train terminal, and then they’re unloading again. The man driving the car speaks far less English than Min-Ji did, but he points them in the right direction and nods solemnly at them as they walk away from him. They thanked him as well, but Luke isn’t sure he understood what they were saying.  
   
A shiny, oblong-shaped bullet train waits at the station and they board it, stashing their suitcases in a compartment with the rest of the luggage and finding seats. Luke, Michael, and Carey are a three-seat bench facing sideways, and P.K. sits behind them on one facing forward with his feet up on the spare seat. There are other white people on the train and Luke wonders if they’re athletes as well or just tourists. He doesn’t recognize any of them, but he probably wouldn’t, if they were speed-skaters or snow-boarders or something.  
   
Michael pulls the packet he was given out of his coat pocket and opens it, and Luke does the same. There is a map of the athlete’s village, information about the hotel and how they’ll get to and from games, a list of rules, and information on South Korea.  
   
“This looks helpful,” Michael says, regarding the tourist information. “Take your shoes off if you go into someone’s house. Don’t leave chopsticks in a bowl of rice. Stuff that will keep us from offending someone and getting in trouble.”  
   
“Why shouldn’t you leave chopsticks in a bowl of rice?”  
   
Michael scans the document. “Apparently people leave bowls of rice with chopsticks in them at the graves of their loved ones. So if you leave the chopsticks in at like the dinner table, it’s like you’re telling the other person you want them to die.”  
   
Luke blows a breath out through his nose. “Yeah, that is good to know.”  
   
“Do you guys have a room number on this page?” Carey asks, holding up the sheet with hotel information.  
   
“406,” P.K. answers.  
   
“Me too,” Carey replies, and grins. “Roomies.”  
   
“Like I’m not already sick of you.” P.K. rolls his eyes, but he’s joking. The two of them usually room together when they’re on the road.  
   
“410,” Michael says, and then examines the paper closer. “I’m with someone named Alexandre Bilodeau.”  
   
“He’s a skier,” Luke pipes up. “Or like … he does that thing where they go off those big jumps and do flips and stuff. He’s good, he’s won a few golds.”  
   
“Is it weird that I’m not with a teammate?” Michael wonders.  
   
Carey shrugs. “Last time, some of the guys were with someone from another sport. I think they just stick people together by country.”  
   
Luke looks at his own hotel information. “Blake Wheeler. Room 743. He’s a hockey player, right?”  
   
“He’s the captain of the Jets,” P.K. reminds him. “He’s a zillion feet tall and blond, maybe that’s why they stuck you two together. Look-alikes.”  
   
“So why am I the only one with someone who isn’t a hockey player?” Michael demands.  
   
“You aren’t. You’re the only one of _us_ who isn’t, but I’m telling you, they mix it all up. Because there are some sports that only have two or three people competing, right? Hell, there are some _countries_ that only have two or three people competing,” Carey insists. “It was like this last time, too.”  
   
“I guess.” Michael doesn’t sound fully convinced, but he drops it, and for Michael that’s the equivalent of being mollified.  
   
Luke catches Carey’s eye and smiles, silently thanking him for the reassurance. Then he takes Michael’s hand and squeezes it, and Michael squeezes back. Luke lets go right away, though, because he doesn’t know the rules here. In Montreal, they might get an odd look or two, especially if they were recognized, but nothing any worse would happen if they held hands on public transport. Luke doesn’t know if that’s true here.  
   
The world flies past the windows in a nauseating blur. Luke can’t tell how fast they’re going but it must be at least twice as fast as a car. It hurts his head to look out the window, so he doesn’t. P.K. has fallen asleep, his head lolling on the metal plate between two panes of glass, and Carey has his nose stuck in a book, so Luke subtly pokes Michael’s leg.  
   
“Yes?” Michael answers, looking at Luke and quirking his pierced eyebrow.  
   
“Hi.” Luke smiles at him.  
   
Michael smiles back, shaking his head – exasperated and fond. “Can I help you with something?”  
   
“Nope. Just saying hi.”  
   
“Dork. My dork, though. I probably shouldn’t kiss you, right?”  
   
Luke glances around. None of the other passengers seem to be paying particularly close attention to them, but he’s unsure even still. “Probably not. Just in case, like …”  
   
“I know.”  
   
“You gotta promise me I’m gonna see you, though. We won’t be on the ice together, I don’t want the three of you to ditch me the second we get there.”  
   
“We won’t. But you’d be fine, even if we did. I doubt your team will just abandon you.”  
   
“I’m not worried about getting kidnapped.” Luke pokes him again, in between two ribs this time. “I’m worried about missing you.”  
   
“Are you that attached?”  
   
“Yes. Aren’t you?”  
   
Michael’s smile widens, and his green eyes sparkle. “We’ll find time for a romantic getaway or two.”  
   
“I hope so.”  
   
“I know so.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
The first thing Luke notices when they arrive in PyeongChang is the mountains. They’re enormous, towering and snow-capped, and they’re _close_ ; not like in Montreal. So close that Luke feels like one loud shout could trigger an avalanche and send ten thousand pounds of wet snow down on top of them and crush the whole city like a wasp under a rolled up newspaper. There is noise, though, and the hustle and bustle of a busy train station, so Luke supposes they’re safe enough. If he squints, he can just make out what looks like Olympic rings, off in the distance, a third of the way up one of the mountains. Luke bets they light up at night. He can’t wait to see them.  
   
The second thing he notices is the buildings. They all look brand new. They’ve been built for the games – huge arenas for hockey and runs for bobsleds and gigantic hotels in the athlete’s village. They’re all made of glass and steel and white lights and they look as space-age as the airport did; nothing like the old brick buildings that make up much of Montreal.  
   
“Wow,” Michael breathes. “It’s … wow.”  
   
Luke nods his agreement, and again he can’t find words to voice it out loud.  
   
A guide in an official Olympic t-shirt flags them down. She’s one among many, hurrying through the crowd at the station, holding clipboards like the one the girl at the airport had, locating the athletes they’ve been assigned to collect. She leads the way to their hotel, and a helpful boy about Luke’s age at the front desk gets them checked in and has an older man show them to their rooms. They squish into the elevator together, the four of them and their bags and the bell-hop, and then the lift stops on the fourth floor and Luke bites his lip. He’s been dreading this moment a little. This is where he has to part with his teammates, where he temporarily ceases to be a member of the Montreal Canadiens and becomes a member of Team U.S.A. For two weeks, they’ll be his adversaries, instead of his comrades. And they’ll have each other, but Luke is on his own. He knows it will be alright, but it will be strange.  
   
“We’ll see you soon,” P.K. tells him, with a smile, and Carey pats his shoulder comfortingly as they file out of the elevator.  
   
Michael blinks at him, and then leans up and kisses him. The bell-hop hums a little and looks away. Luke decides he doesn’t care what this person thinks. He holds Michael’s face and kisses back.  
   
“Soon,” Michael repeats, with one more peck, and a smile.  
   
“Be _nice_ to your roommate,” Luke reminds him. Sometimes Michael still has that old chip on his shoulder; slipping back into the person he was when Luke first met him, who assumes every new person he meets is going to have a problem with him. He spent too many years with it being an accurate assumption to have been able to shake it completely.  
   
“I will.”  
   
Luke waves awkwardly at them as the doors close and the elevator continues its journey up to the 7th floor, where Luke gets off. He doesn’t look at the man. He’s afraid to.  
   
Room 743 is at the end of the hall. Luke has a key, but he still knocks because he doesn’t know if his roommate has arrived yet, and doesn’t want to walk in on a stranger undressing or something. It opens after a moment, revealing a man as tall as Luke but much broader, with tousled dirty blond hair, pale blue eyes, sharp features, and a scruffy beard.  
   
The corners of his eyes contract into time-deepened creases as his lips curve into a smile. “Luke Hemmings?” he asks, but Luke can tell he already knows. “Hey, man, I’m Blake. Or Wheels. Whichever you prefer.”  
   
“Hey.” Luke shakes his big hand, and then Blake steps back from the door to let Luke in. “Have you been here long?”  
   
“A few hours. That was crazy, right? The trip here? I’ve never been this far away from North America before.”  
   
“Me neither. Europe’s as far as I’ve gone.”  
   
“I was in Russia once, for a junior tournament. But still, it wasn’t anywhere near this far. I don’t really like flying, I thought I was gonna die.”  
   
“I don’t really, either, actually. I’m getting used to it, couple years in the league now, but it’s still not my favorite.”  
   
“Put your stuff down,” Blake says, waving his hand at the suitcase Luke is still clutching his hand, his grip tight enough to turn his knuckles white.  
   
“Oh.” Luke sets it down on the floor.  
   
“I dumped my crap on the bed closer to the window, but I don’t mind switching if you have a preference.” There is a large duffle bag, a hoodie, a travel pillow, and a pair of worn out Nikes piled on one of the double beds.  
   
Luke hauls his bag up onto the other one. “No, it’s fine. I don’t care.”  
   
Blake goes to his own items and unzips his duffel. “I guess I could deal with this stuff. I’ve mostly been lying face down on the free half of the bed since I got here, I’m so tired.”  
   
“Me too. D’you think anyone would mind if we just crashed and slept until tomorrow?”  
   
Blake laughs. “I’m not sure.”  
   
They unpack their bags in silence for a few moments. Luke puts some clothes in a chest of drawers, and hangs up a few others, and deposits his bag of toothpaste and shampoo in the bathroom on the white countertop. Everything in here is white as well, with sleek black accents. It gives the room a simple, crisp feeling, but not particularly homey. Like being in an Apple store.  
   
“Do you like Montreal?” Blake asks, after a while.  
   
“I do. It’s a nice city. How’s Winnipeg? We’ve played there but I’ve never really seen it.”  
   
“It’s nice.” Blake nods. “It’s small, but bigger than where I come from, in Minnesota. It’s got kind of a small-town feel to it. Good place to play, raise kids, all that.”  
   
“You have kids?”  
   
“Two. A boy and a girl. And two dogs who are about as much work.” He pauses for a moment, and then adds, “You?” but the look on his face says it’s a formality and he already knows Luke doesn’t, and not just because he’s too young.  
   
Luke shakes his head, unsure how exactly to address the question, when a knock at the door saves him from having to. Peering through the peep-hole, he sees Michael’s blue head, and opens up.  
   
“That was quick.”  
   
“Is it okay?” Michael asks under his breath. He’s referring to Luke’s rooming situation – his eyes say so.  
   
“Yes.” Luke makes way for him to enter the room. “Michael, this is Blake Wheeler. Blake, this is Michael, my … uh, my teammate. From the Canadiens.” Luke stumbles over his words at the end, and then feels stupid about it.  
   
“Hey, man,” Blake says, coming over and shaking Michael’s hand. Then he cringes. “I. Uh. I know who you are. Like …” he gestures aimlessly and then trails off.  
   
Luke swallows. He’d been wondering if and when it would come up. He should have known it would be sooner rather than later. “Yeah.”  
   
Michael says nothing.  
   
“They asked me,” Blake mutters. “Before I got here. A month ago, maybe. If I would be alright rooming with you. Because …”  
   
Again, Luke isn’t sure what to say.  
   
“Alex said the same thing,” Michael speaks up, finally, referring to his own roommate.  
   
“It’s stupid, right?” Blake laughs nervously. “Can you believe they did that? There’s no way they did for anyone else. What are they worried is gonna happen? I told them to go get fucked, seriously. You don’t have a disease I’m gonna catch. So stupid.”  
   
Luke looks at Michael, and watches his rigid posture relax visibly.  
   
“Fucked up,” Michael agrees. He sounds relieved. “Yeah, that’s kinda what my roommate said too. Thanks, it’s … you’re right, that was dumb.”  
   
Another knock at the door has all three heads turning toward the noise.  
   
“Open up, it’s Canada,” P.K.’s voice calls. “We’re invading your country.”  
   
Luke grins to himself, and goes to let them in. “Hello Canada.”  
   
“Thought we might need to rescue you.” P.K. moves into the room, and Carey follows.  
   
“This is Blake, or Wheels,” Luke says, holding out his hand directionally. “And he’s very nice and you don’t need to rescue me from him, idiots.”  
   
“Hey guys!” Blake says brightly. “C’mon in.”  
   
Luke makes more introductions. Blake shakes more hands, and tells Carey it’s an honor to officially meet him, to which Carey blushes and rolls his eyes and bashfully suggests Blake shuts up.  
   
“Has anyone given you any instructions?” P.K. asks Blake. “Like, what we’re supposed to do tonight? The Opening Ceremonies isn’t until tomorrow.”  
   
Blake shakes his head. “I’m assuming we’ll be told where to go? I’m not sure.”  
   
“We should go out, then,” P.K. decides. “Get something to eat. Wander around, check this place out. You should come. If you want.”  
   
Blake glances briefly at Luke, almost as if he’s asking permission that certainly isn’t Luke’s to give, but Luke nods anyway, so Blake does as well. “Thanks. Great, yeah, that sounds fun.”  
   
“Do you have teammates here?” Carey asks. “From the Jets?”  
   
Blake shakes his head. “A few playing for other countries, none for the States, though. It’s just me.”  
   
“We won’t feel bad about kidnapping you, then.” P.K. claps his hands and heads for the door. The others follow, with Luke and Michael bringing up the rear. When they get out onto the street, Michael bumps Luke’s shoulder with his own, and winks at him when Luke looks over. Luke slings an arm over his shoulders, and doesn’t care if someone looks twice at them.  
   
*           *           *


	8. okto

Luke makes a mental note of the date, so he can remember it forever. February 9th, 2018. When he’s 80 and wrinkled, he hopes every year when the 9th of February rolls around, he can think back and remember every second of this. He wants to imprint on his brain the way that he feels at this exact moment.  
   
The arena is enormous. It’s the biggest building Luke has ever been in. The ceiling is so high he can barely see it. There was a television, where all the athletes were waiting, so they could watch the pageantry of the opening ceremonies and Luke was speechless. Thousands of dancers and lights and fire, and a little bit of what must be pure magic. He never wanted it to end, it was transfixing. Now, he’s waiting in a huge mass of people, in matching track suits, red white and blue in starbursts on the smooth fabric and United States of America stitched in gold on the back. Individually, they’re kind of hideous, but all as one, they look like a team.  
   
He hasn’t seen much of his regular teammates today, and Canada comes far sooner in the alphabet so they already did their lap around the track in the parade of athletes and are probably at their seats now. A mass of red will give them away when Luke gets out there, but he won’t be near enough to them to see his friends. Blake is standing next to him. Luke met the rest of his new team earlier. Some of them he’s met before. All of them he’s played against. It’s strange, that they now share a uniform. It will be stranger still to play against Canada, and aim a slap-shot at Carey as he guards a net that normally Luke would dive in front of a puck to protect.  
   
The crowd in front of them starts to move, and Luke follows along. He’s nearer to the back, so the announcer on the booming sound system calls out their country before Luke actually gets through the door. When he does, he’s speechless again. He walks and looks, at the cheering crowd and the flashing lights and, right in the center, the massive Olympic rings. Luke is still going to get them done in ink on his arm. He wants to look at them every day for the rest of his life and remember this. He can barely think straight, though. His senses are overloaded. Overwhelming is not a large enough word to describe the way this feels.  
   
“Holy shit,” Blake says softly, just to Luke’s right.  
   
“Yeah,” Luke agrees.  
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke’s phone buzzes on the table next to his bed. His eyelids are heavy but he forces them to open as he reaches over and gropes blindly through the air to find it. The screen is so bright when he looks that it forces his eyelids back down for a moment, until they can adjust to the sudden light. His roommate snores softly in the next bed.  
   
It’s a text from Michael. _Babe. Wake up. Get dressed, we’re going on an adventure :)_  
   
Luke frowns, and also smiles.  
   
 _It’s bedtime_ , he answers.  
   
He rubs his tired eyes as three black dots indicate that Michael is writing back. The message comes; _I wish we could share a room. I miss you. not used to sleeping alone._  
   
Resisting the urge to tease him for being sappy, Luke writes, _Me too._  
   
 _I mean it though_ , Michael texts. _Get up. I’ll be there in five minutes._  
   
 _Why? Where are we going_? Luke asks. He waits, but doesn’t get an answer. Michael ignores him rather than explain. Luke exhales heavily. He’s warm and comfortable and exhausted, but he hardly saw Michael today and it doesn’t seem like he’s being given an option. As quietly as he can, Luke gets out of bed. He uses the screen of his phone as a flashlight to locate some clothes and his coat and shoes, and dresses in the bathroom so he doesn’t have to turn the lights all on and risk waking Blake.  
   
True to his word, there is a soft knock at the door a few minutes later, and Luke opens it to see Michael in his fitted cloth coat and a black beanie with a Canadian maple leaf on it pulled over his blue hair. Michael goes up on his toes to kiss Luke instead of saying hello, and then he turns and walks off down the hallway. Luke is left blinking and hurrying to shove his phone and room key into his pocket, close the door behind himself, and jog after his boyfriend.  
   
“Where are we going?” Luke asks. It’s the time of night when the moon has turned everything indigo. The snow under their feet glows, and crunches with every step. It’s a clear, still night; stars bright and brilliant even over the lights of the village. His first game is tomorrow, and they’ll practice for most of the day. It will take some time to turn 30 guys who don’t really know each other into a cohesive group that plays like a team as if they’ve been teammates all along. Luke should really be sleeping.  
   
“It’s a surprise.”  
   
“Why do I trust you when you do this?” Luke shakes his head. Michael is always leading places, usually late at night, and Luke always just goes. The thing is, after three years, he doesn’t hesitate at all and that makes sense. But he never _did_ hesitate, even back when he barely knew Michael. He’s always just followed along.  
   
“Because you do trust me,” Michael points out.  
   
“True.”  
   
“It’s gonna be a madhouse starting tomorrow, I wanted us to have a minute before the craziness starts.”  
   
“We play you on Saturday.”  
   
“I know.” Michael grimaces a little. “That’s gonna be weird, huh? Why did you have to be American, we could’ve been on the same team.”  
   
Luke grins. “I’m sorry. I’ll try harder next time.”  
   
Michael takes Luke’s hand, threading their cold fingers together. “C’mon.”  
   
The village is nearly deserted. They walk for maybe ten minutes, toward the mountains. As they approach the base of the ski runs, Luke hears a metallic whirring sound, and looks around to locate it when he notices the chair-lift is running.  
   
“It’s one A.M., who would be going up the mountain? Does that thing run all night?”  
   
A playful glint makes Michael’s green eyes shine in the moonlight. “Not usually. Not when I haven’t paid someone to leave it on.”  
   
“You did?”  
   
“I did. Took me a while to explain things, I don’t think the guy spoke very much English.”  
   
Luke frowns. “Uh. Okay. Why?”  
   
“You’re supposed to be trusting me, remember? Let’s go.”  
   
“Blindly trusting you as you lead me up a mountain, in the dark, in the middle of the night, in a foreign country. Is that what you meant?”  
   
Michael’s smile creases the corners of his eyes. “That’s exactly what I meant.”  
   
Luke’s objections are only words. He lets Michael lead him to the lift, and they let one of the chairs  pick them up and start to carry them up the snowy slope. Luke shivers in the chilly night air, and Michael’s arm goes around his shoulders. Luke tucks himself against Michael, slouching in the seat so he can rest his head on Michael’s shoulder and warm the tip of his nose against Michael’s neck.  
   
“Remember that time we went to the resort in Montreal with the guys?” Michael asks. His other hand finds Luke’s and his thumb plays over Luke’s fingers.  
   
“I’d never been on a chairlift before,” Luke recalls. “You and I were still new, I was afraid I was going to fall trying to get on the thing and make an idiot of myself.”  
   
“I would’ve helped you up and dusted you off and loved you anyway,” Michael tells him.  
   
Luke kisses his neck. “My bed felt pretty empty earlier without you in it.”  
   
“Mine too. I’m used to your giant ass hogging all the covers.”  
   
“I’m used to clinging to me like a starfish.”  
   
“Is that a problem?”  
   
“Never.” He presses his mouth under Michael’s jaw, pressing the words into his skin, his lips catching and dragging over Michael’s pale flesh. “I love being in your arms.”  
   
“I always want you there.” Michael lets go of Luke’s hand and his other arm goes around Luke as well, hugging him close. “So I can keep you safe.”  
   
“I don’t think I’m in any danger when we’re sleeping.”  
   
“Just in case. Of, you know, robbers or ghosts or something.”  
   
Luke smiles. “Thank you for protecting me from potential ghosts.”  
   
He doesn’t say it, but letting Michael be protective is the best way Luke knows to take care of him. His life is better now, than it was when Luke first met him, but some scars don’t fade and sometimes Michael still falls temporarily into sadness. He’s such a selfless person, even when it’s a bad day and he’s drowning in his own mind and memories, he worries about Luke. So Luke lets Michael fuss over him, and never asks Michael to talk about it because he wouldn’t anyway, and when they climb into bed at the end of the day Luke lets Michael cradle him against his chest and falls asleep with Michael’s scent in his nose. Sometimes, when everything else is too much, Michael just needs to touch, to hold onto something that isn’t going anywhere. Like an anchor.  
   
Nearing the top of the lift, Michael reluctantly releases his grip on Luke and the loss of contact makes Luke shiver again. The breeze is stronger at the top of the mountain.  
   
“Over here.” Michael leads and Luke follows, their boots crunching again on the frozen ground.  
   
A short ways away from the top of the lift, there is a wooden platform near the edge made for sight-seeing. There are streetlamps up here but half of them aren’t lit. It’s so quiet, the snow muffling the noise from the city below. Luke goes to the railing, and looks out into an endless sea of lights.  
   
“A guy at the front desk told me it was really pretty up here,” Michael says. He moves in behind Luke, his arms wrapping around Luke’s waist. His chin rests on Luke’s shoulder. “He said you could see the whole world. That on a clear day you can see all the way to the ocean.”  
   
“It’s beautiful.”  
   
“We should start traveling, in the summers. I’d like to kiss you at the top of the Eifel Towel.”  
   
“That sounds nice. So, what are we doing up here?”  
   
“This.” Michael kisses his cheek. “Just looking at the view.”  
   
Luke turns his head so his lips can find Michael’s. They kiss, languid and unhurried. Michael’s tongue licks along Luke’s bottom lip, asking for permission, and Luke opens up to let him in.  
   
“Wish there was a bed up here,” Michael says, his voice husky and lilting. “Or at least ground that wasn’t covered in snow.”  
   
“I don’t really want frostbite on my ass. Want you, though.”  
   
Michael gently bites at Luke’s lip, sucking the metal ring into his mouth for just a moment before he lets it go.  
   
“Can I ask you something?” Luke asks softly.  
   
“Yes.”  
   
Luke stares out at the mountains and the snow and the city far below them, and licks over his lower lip, tasting Michael there. “Do you think we’ll be together forever?”  
   
Michael pauses, and then he kisses Luke’s cheek. “I hope so,” he whispers. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or next week, or next year. But I know how much I love you.”  
   
Luke smiles. “Yeah?”  
   
“So much. More than anything.” Michael’s arms hug around him a little tighter. “And I would do anything to protect you.”  
   
“From ghosts.”  
   
Michael laughs quietly. “Yes. Or anything else.”  
   
*           *           *


	9. enia

Luke’s first game is against the Czech Republic. Probably no one he knows is in the crowd – for sure his Montreal teammates aren’t – but his family is definitely watching at home even though it’s the middle of the night where they are. He’s buzzing with nervous excitement. The crowd is so colorful, dressed in jerseys and face paint and weird hats and clown wigs from any number of countries. It’s a vibrant, thrumming rainbow. Luke likes his new, temporary teammates. They beat the Czechs but only by two goals, and it isn’t as easy as Luke would’ve thought to do so. He always underestimates European teams. He doesn’t score, but he assists Patrick Kane on a goal and it feels good to contribute. Luke is one of the younger players, but not the youngest. It all feels a bit like his first year in Montreal did, although Luke isn’t quite the same rookie he was then. He’s grown a lot, and learned a lot, and become someone he could not have imagined three years ago.  
   
After the game, Luke is walking back to his room with Blake, showered and changed out of his skates and pads and back into his U.S.A. Olympic gear. Other athletes mill about, mixed in with the tourists. Luke loves the energy in the athletes’ village. It’s always moving, there is always noise and laughter and the vibration of constant activity. It’s cold, here, but not as cold as back home. Luke is used to Canada by now.   
   
“Boo,” a voice says, softly, from behind Luke, just before a hand grabs his shoulder.  
   
Luke jumps, startled, and turns, heart beating fast and instincts ready to fight, but he’s met with dimples and hazel eyes and the smiling face of his second favorite person in the world. After Michael.   
   
“Oh my God.” Luke laughs, and pulls Ashton into an enormous hug.  
   
“Hi!” Ashton laughs too, and hugs back.  
   
“Where did you come from?” Luke demands. He pulls back and then notices darker hair and brown eyes standing next to Ashton. “Cal! No fucking way.” Luke hugs him too.  
   
“We’ve been chasing you for like ten minutes,” Calum says. “Trying to get close enough to freak you out without all this security thinking we were crazy stalkers or something.”  
   
“You  _did_  freak me out, assholes,” Luke tells him, lightly shoving Calum in the chest. “Even though I knew you were gonna show up.”  
   
“You did?”  
   
“At the airport?” Luke reminds them. “Ash wasn't subtle.”  
   
“I told you,” Calum says, shooting a hard look at Ashton.  
   
“I was excited!” Ashton cries, in his own defence. “I couldn’t contain it, sue me.” He looks to the left of Luke, and up a little, and smiles. “You, are Blake Wheeler.”  
   
“I am,” Blake confirms. “Irwin, right?”  
   
“Oh! Shit sorry.” Luke rolls his eyes. “Um, yes, okay, this is my roommate and teammate and whatever, Blake, and Blake this is Ashton Irwin and Calum Hood, who apparently just flew nearly all the way around the world because they had nothing better to do with two weeks off.”  
   
“Literally what else would we have done,” Calum deadpans. “We don’t have families and shit like the older guys. We would’ve just sat on our asses and watched your games on T.V. anyway, might as well do it here. See the world a little bit.”  
   
“Hey,” Blake says politely, shaking their hands.   
   
“Where’s everyone else?” Ashton asks, referring to their Canadian teammates.  
   
“I’m not sure, actually. Their own practice, I guess, I haven’t seen them today.” Luke shrugs. “Where are you staying?”  
   
“Close, we hot a hotel room like five minutes from here.” Calum grins. “And also tickets to all your games. And Canada’s.”  
   
“Holy fuck that must’ve been expensive.” Luke shakes his head. “Thanks but I’m one hundred percent sure I’m not worth all that.”  
   
“We have money,” Ashton says, waving it off with his hand. “Do you have time to show us around? We seriously just got here, like an hour ago. We dropped our shit at the hotel and then we’ve been wandering around looking for you. We knew your game just ended.”  
   
“Yeah!” Luke turns to Blake. “You wanna come?”  
   
“I could use a nap, actually.” He winces apologetically. “The time difference is still messing with me. Next time?”  
   
“Yeah, ‘course.”  
   
“Want me to take your bag back to the room?” Blake holds his hand out.  
   
“That would be great, actually, thanks.” Luke fishes his wallet out and sticks in it his pocket next to his phone, and hands over his duffel.  
   
“Good to meet you guys,” Blake says, with a small wave, as he starts to walk away.  
   
“Is he nice?” Ashton asks, nodding after Luke’s roommate.  
   
Luke nods. “He’s great. The whole team is great.”  
   
“What about Michael’s?” Calum asks.  
   
“You guys are adorable,” Luke jokes. “Thank you for worrying about us but yes, Michael’s roommate is cool too. Everyone is cool.”  
   
“Good.”  
   
“Where do you wanna go?”  
   
Ashton shrugs. “Just, around. Let’s see this place.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke can’t go to any of Michael’s games, but he watches them when he can. Sometimes they’re on the TVs in the room where they train, sometimes he’s lucky enough to be in his hotel room and can watch there. Other time he watches on a shitty stream on his phone or sneaks off to the bathroom to check the ESPN app for updates whenever he can.  
   
Michael is brilliant on the ice. Luke doesn’t usually get to watch him, because usually he’s on the ice with him, or at least on the bench where he’s concentrating on other things. His own performance, and the time, and the plays they’re supposed to be executing. With Michael on a different team, Luke can really _watch_ him. He can examine the smooth, fluid way Michael moves on the ice, like his skates are a part of his body. He’s more coordinated on the ice than off it; Luke is too. His shots, so deadly and quick. He’s so strong, even though he’s one of the lighter guys on their team back home. Long, lean muscles give him power and strength rather than bulk. The way the puck flicks off his stick and barrels toward the net with the accuracy of a sniper. Michael scores twice in a game against Germany, and Luke is watching the game with one eye on his phone in the back of a room full of his American teammates instead of paying attention to their coach like he’s supposed to be, so he can’t cheer out loud, but he does on the inside.   
   
He sees more of his friends than he was expecting to. They have a game every other day and practices in between, but there is time off as well and they engage in what Ashton calls _adventuring_. They explore the city, they attend other events like snowboarding and bobsled, and they eat amazing food at local restaurants. Luke has done a whole lot of smiling since they touched down in Korea.  
   
In the middle of his third game, against Switzerland, Luke is nearing the end of a shift, dizzy with how exhausted he is as he struggles to get quickly to the bench so someone else with fresh legs can take his place. His lungs are screaming for air and his heart is going too fast to let him take a deep enough breath. His muscles ache, but it’s just a few more feet and then he can rest for a while before he comes back out, and then, boom. He’s blind-sided, something solid crashes into him, hits his shoulder, his head, knocking him awkwardly into the boards and the world goes black for just a moment. When he stops falling he blinks, and then groans, his whole body in shock from the collision. He tries to get up and stumbles immediately back down, dizzy now for a different reason. The world spins, and his head feels foggy, like he’s trapped in a steamy bathroom and can’t get out.  
   
Someone is talking to him, but their voice is muffled, like it’s far away. Then suddenly, the fog clears, and his head _hurts_ , and trainers are rushing over and a face is suddenly close to his, dark eyes blinking into his own.  
   
“I’m okay,” Luke manages to force out, through teeth gritted against the pain.  
   
“What’s your name?” the face asks.  
   
“It’s Luke Hemmings, I’m _fine_ ,” Luke repeats, angrily. “Get off me, let me up.”  
   
“Help him,” the trainer says to another player, and two arms hook under Luke’s armpits and haul him to his feet. Two players from Luke’s team grip him tightly and help him off the ice, and Luke’s annoyed by the whole thing but he doesn’t bother fighting back against them.  
   
In the dressing room, Luke is made to remove his helmet and sit on a table while a pen-light shines into his eyes and he answers simple math problems to prove he isn’t concussed. Someone feels him up, pressing hands into his shoulders and his legs, and it’s all completely unnecessary and Luke is just itching to get back onto the ice.  
   
“Can I go, now?” he asks, when the hands leave his body.  
   
“You’re out for the rest, kid,” the trainer says, sympathetically.  
   
Luke frowns. “What?”  
   
“That was a nasty hit to the head, coach doesn’t want you coming back this game. Tomorrow we’ll check again and if you’re alright, you’ll play in the next game.”  
   
“I don’t need to wait until the next game!”  
   
“Those are my orders, sorry.” The guy doesn’t really look sorry. “Hit the showers.”  
   
He pats Luke on the elbow and then he goes, back out to the bench with the other trainers and the rest of Luke’s teammates and Luke should be _out there_ with them and he’s furious that he isn’t. He pulls off one of his skates and hurls it across the room in frustration.  
   
*           *           *  
   
“They told me to keep an eye on you,” Blake says, later when they’re back at the hotel. “Make sure you don’t pass out or something.”  
   
“I am _seriously_ okay,” Luke says. He isn’t really angry anymore. He cooled down in the showers, and his team won without him anyway, and his shoulder twinges a little if he moves it in the wrong direction but that’s nothing he doesn’t deal with after nearly every game at him. They always leave the rink beaten and bruised; it’s part of the game. Luke is used to it.  
   
“You had a bad concussion a few years back, right? Took you out for a few weeks?” Blake asks. “One of the trainers told me, I guess they have histories on all of us. So you’re a risk, is what he said.”  
   
“They’re being ridiculous. It was just a check.”  
   
“You didn’t see it.” Blake cringes. “The guy’s elbow when right to your head. It was bad.”  
   
Luke startles when someone pounds on the door, loudly and not letting up. “What the fuck,” he mutters, going to open it, and finding Michael and Calum and Ashton on the other side.  
   
Michael barges in and grabs Luke’s face, his eyes darting back and forth between Luke’s; searching. “Are you okay?” he asks desperately.  
   
“Yes,” Luke says honestly.  
   
Michael eyes him for just another second, making sure Luke’s telling the truth, and then lets his face go and flicks his ear.  
   
“Ow!” Luke complains.  
   
“You can’t answer your damn phone?” Michael demands.  
   
Luke frowns. It had been on silent, since before the game, and he hadn’t thought to check it. He does now, and finds so many texts and missed calls and messages, mostly from Michael but a few from his mom, that it takes several swipes of his thumb to scroll through them all.  
   
“Shit. Sorry, I didn’t think.”  
   
“You get hit in the head and carried off the ice and you didn’t _think_ your boyfriend might be worried about you.” Michael glares.  
   
“Yeah, I had other things on my mind!” Luke protests, but it’s weak. He should have realized.  
   
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Ashton asks. His voice is quieter, worried instead of angry. “The slow-motion replay was awful. And when you didn’t come back …”  
   
“Precautionary,” Luke promises. “Because of my history.”  
   
Michael paces into the room and runs his hands through his hair. Luke doesn’t know what to say. He’d like to pull Michael into his arms right now, reassure him that everything is fine, but he’s not sure he’s comfortable doing that in a room full of people.  
   
Calum seems to sense it. “Hey, um,” he starts, looking at Blake, and then at Ashton. “Anyone hungry?”  
   
“Starving,” Blake says, sounding grateful to have an excuse to make an exit. “Couple guys from my team are just down the hall, should we get a group together?”  
   
Ashton nods emphatically. “I’ll get Pricer and Subs, meet you in the lobby.”  
   
Calum catches Michael’s eye and they share a meaningful look before the three of them leave. Luke isn’t sure what that’s about, but it doesn’t seem to calm Michael down. Once they’re gone and Luke and Michael are alone, Luke sits on the edge of his bed and holds his hand out. Michael doesn’t take it.  
   
“You could’ve been really hurt,” he mutters, moving around the room in random circles with quick, heavy steps.  
   
“Will you sit, please?” Luke implores. Michael’s agitated pacing is giving him a headache. “Michael. I’m fine. Sit down, you’re driving me nuts.”  
   
Michael still looks furious but he listens, and sits on the bed next to Luke.   
   
“Babe.” Luke takes his hand. “It was a hit. I was dizzy for like five minutes, and now I’m fine. You’ve seen me get hit a hundred times, what’s going on?”  
   
“It’s happening again,” Michael mumbles. “And this one was _bad_ , it wasn’t like the others. It was to the head.”  
   
He’s right about that, but it wouldn’t help to say so. “What’s happening again?” Luke asks patiently.  
   
“Like the last time you got hit bad. The time when he knocked you out, when you were in the hospital. And we thought you might never play again.”  
   
Luke shakes his head. He squeezes Michael’s hand and lets it go, and then wraps both his arms around Michael’s shoulders in a lopsided hug. “So dramatic,” he says softly, kissing Michael’s hair. “This was nothing like that. Just a regular dirty check, nothing to get worked up over. I’m not even hurt.”  
   
“You could’ve been,” Michael grumps. Then he sighs and relaxes into Luke’s arms. “Don’t get hurt ever.”  
   
“I’ll try my best,” Luke promises, not pointing out that it isn’t something he has any control over, given their profession.  
   
“Don’t try. Just do it. Don’t get hurt, don’t get hit, don’t block a puck and get a bruise, don’t even stub your toe.”  
   
Luke presses his lips together, trying not to laugh, but fails.   
   
“And don’t laugh at me,” Michael complains. He pokes Luke in the ribs.  
   
“I’m sorry.” Luke rests his mouth on Michael’s head. “I love you. You’re being ridiculous, and I’m a hockey player so I’m gonna get hurt because that goes along with it, but I love you.”  
   
“I hate that.”  
   
“That I love you?”  
   
" _No_. That you’re gonna get hurt. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”  
   
“There is nothing you can do to stop it,” Luke confirms. “But for today, I’m not hurt.”  
   
“Who hit you?” Michael asks.  
   
“I … don’t know,” Luke says carefully. He does know. Blake told him. He just doesn’t necessarily want Michael knowing.   
   
“I’m gonna find out. We play Switzerland tomorrow, I’m gonna beat his skull in with – ”  
   
“Michael,” Luke interrupts sharply, letting his arms fall away.  
   
“What?” Michael asks defensively.  
   
Luke raises his eyebrows. Michael should know very well _what_. “No the fuck you will not.”  
   
“He deserves it!”  
   
“What are you talking about, deserves it, like this is an eye for an eye thing? The I.O.C. will look at it and he’ll probably get suspended for a game, _that’s_ what he deserves. You’re not dolling out justice for this in the form of a taste of his own medicine. That’s not how this works.”  
   
Michael rolls his eyes.  
   
“Hey, I mean it,” Luke says, shoving Michael’s shoulder lightly to emphasize his point. “Promise me you won’t retaliate. You’ll get in so much shit if you do, it isn’t worth it.”  
   
Michael looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. “Fine.”  
   
Luke narrows his eyes but Michael holds his hands up in surrender.  
   
“Seriously. Okay? I won’t. Scout’s honor, or whatever.”  
   
Luke nods. “Okay.”  
   
Michael reaches up and brushes the hair out of Luke’s eyes. It’s longer on the top lately, and sometimes it curls and falls over his forehead. “You sure you’re alright?”  
   
“I promise.” Luke leans in and kisses Michael’s lips. “I’m alright.”  
   
*           *           *


	10. deka

    

Luke is alone in his room. Blake's wife and kids arrived today, so they're gone for the day, out sight-seeing. Luke met them, before they left. She was beautiful, and the kids were blue-eyed and smiley and loud in a good way, and as they left Luke let himself think for just a moment about wanting that one day. A family. It makes him miss their cat.  
  
Canada is playing Switzerland right now, so of Luke's five teammates currently in South Korea with him, three are on the ice and two are in the stands. Calum and Ashton really did get tickets to all the games, Luke can't imagine how much that cost but they're paid too much anyway. He can see the two of them in the crowd every so often, because Calum is wearing a purple plastic crown that Ashton bought and covered in feathers and glitter, and made Calum wear all night at his birthday party last month. It's serving as a good beacon - a way for Luke to spot them amongst the thousands of fans in equally ridiculous outfits.   
  
Luke is stretched out on his bed with a bag of Doritos and the remote and his phone next to his hip. He sent Ashton a text a while ago but he never answered - which is fine. They're having fun. It's halfway through the first period and Switzerland is one goal up. Luke watches their net-minder closely, and thinks it's no wonder his own team struggled to beat the Swiss yesterday. Luke doesn't know the goalie's name but he's incredible. He athletically throws himself all around, picking flying pucks out of the air as if it's as easy as catching a butterfly in a giant net.   
  
When Michael steps onto the ice, Luke pays special attention. He loves watching. Michael gets a good shot away on this shift, but it hits the post. Luke groans in disappointment, and urges, "Come on!" to no one in particular. He's tense, even though it isn't his team and technically he should be rooting for them to lose, because his own team has a better chance of winning if they do. Luke has been keeping an eye on the player who hit him yesterday. He doesn't know for sure whether the play was even reviewed, but if it was it must have been deemed an accident because as far as he knows the guy hasn't been disciplined in any way. If he has, it was a monetary fine instead of a suspension, because he's on the ice. Number 23. He's on right now. He's a bit of a dirty player, Luke notices. He's hit a few of the Canadian players already and one of those hits got him a penalty for boarding.   
  
The Canadian team changes again, and Michael is back on the ice. Luke chews at his lip, and thinks, _please don't do it_. At first, it doesn't look like Michael is going to. They just play. Then, 23 throws another hit, slamming left-winger Jamie Benn into the boards. To Luke, it looks like a clean hit. Hard, but fully legal. Nothing anyone should get upset about. He should have known better. Michael descends on the scene and hits the guy back, and they slip and stumble down to the ice. And Michael doesn't stop. He lunges, tackling the other player. Luke watches with his mouth open as this whistle blows to stop the play, and Michael and 23 get to their feet and drop their gloves and start trading punches. The rest of both teams gets into it as well, pairing off in small groups of three or four and shoving at each other.  
  
It lasts less than a minute, before the linesmen interject and force them apart. 23 has a bloody nose, a spot on Michael just above his left eyebrow is leaking scarlet down the side of his face, and they both look furious. Still shouting at each other, they're hauled off to the penalty box. The Swiss coach is inconsolable on the bench, purple in the face and screaming at the referee. For a moment the referee screams back, and then dramatically points his finger toward the dressing rooms, ejecting the coach from the game. The Swiss bench erupts. The player in the penalty box is screaming too, and pounding on the glass, and a few of the Canadian players join in, and at the end of the chaos two more Swiss players have been kicked out including number 23, and Michael is sent packing as well, even though he'd been sitting quietly in the box. He started it, so the referee clearly decides he's at fault for everything and ejects him too.  
  
Luke turns the T.V. off. He doesn't want to watch another second, he doesn't care anymore who wins or loses. He hopes they all get thrown out and the game is called off. He hopes Canada is banned from ever sending a hockey team to the Olympics again. He's so mad he can't see straight.  
  
 _Come to my room when you get back_ , he texts Michael.   
  
It will be a couple of hours, he knows that. The two teams still have the rest of the game to play, and just because Michael isn't allowed back on the ice for this game doesn't mean he'll leave the building. He'll be there, in the locker rooms, probably fuming and ranting to no one and swearing up a storm. Luke does the opposite. He just sits. He sits in a chair by the window, and stares blankly out at the mountains and the snow and the town, and marinates in it all.  
  
A long time passes before there is a tentative knock at the door. Luke opens it, and can't read Michael's bruised face. Michael comes inside, without speaking, and Luke closes the door behind him. The silence is deafening, more tense than it's ever been between them.   
  
Finally Michael can't take it anymore, and says, "I wasn't going to."   
  
Luke shakes his head. "You promised me you wouldn't," he says quietly.   
  
"I swear I wasn't going to," Michael insists. "I meant it. And then he was throwing our players around and I just lost it."   
  
"You promised me!" Luke yells. Michael flinches. "You sat right here, right on this bed, and told me you wouldn't retaliate. I guess it's good to know a promise from you lasts less than 24 hours before it expires."  
  
"It - no, it doesn't. Luke I meant that when I said it, okay? I swear I did. But you were watching, you saw him! He threw Tavares head first into the boards, he could have broken his neck!"   
  
"Yeah but you didn't go after him for that! You went after him because he hit _me._ "  
  
"I didn't! And even if I did, so what?" Michael cries. "He was throwing cheap shots, someone had to teach him a lesson! That's hockey, that's how it works! Everyone was pissed at him on the bench, if it hadn't been me it would've been someone else!"   
  
"I don't care about him! Is that what you think this is? I'm sad that you made him bleed? Fuck that guy! I care about _you_. I care that you fought him after you _promised_ me you wouldn't, and everyone is gonna know exactly why you did it! Retaliating for something that happened in a different game to someone on a different _team_ isn't just how hockey works! There's no way you won't get suspended! Or sent home, even!"  
  
"I just - I lost control." He holds up his hands, the skin raw and blistered and purple from bruises. "Fuck, think one of my fingers might be broken."  
  
Luke gapes at him. Then he picks up a pillow off the bed and hurls it across the room at Michael. It misses, and bounces off the TV. "Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? It's not like you were in an accident, you broke your finger on someone else's _skull_! After you said you wouldn't!"  
  
Michael is staring at the pillow. "Did you just throw a pillow at me?"   
  
"I am _mad_ at you!" Luke shouts. "How are you not picking up on that?"  
  
"I am! I just don't know what you want me to say, I'm trying to explain myself and you're not listening!"  
  
Luke growls in frustration and runs his hands through his hair. "Do you not understand how serious this is? This wasn't just a hockey fight, Michael. You went after a guy who hit your boyfriend in the previous game. Even if you did just lose control, that's not how it's going to look to anyone else! They're gonna think this was planned, pre-meditated! That you used a hockey game as an excuse for payback, to _assault_ someone who wronged you and get away with it!"  
  
Michael's face changes as he finally understands exactly what Luke is afraid is going to come of this. "Oh."  
  
"What if the fallout from this follows us back home?" Luke continues angrily. "Don't you think there are still people in the league who hate us? Who would love an excuse to say, oh, see we told you having two queers on the same team was a bad idea! And you just gave them that excuse! You just gave them evidence. What if one of us gets traded? What if you get kicked out for good? What if they decide that us being together means you can't control yourself and they don't let you play at all anymore?"  
  
"Do you really think that could happen?" Michael's eyes are so wide.  
  
"I don't know!" Luke spreads his arms out and then lets them fall down to his sides. "Maybe! I know this is bad, Michael. It's really, really bad."  
  
"I ... I didn't think."  
  
Luke scoffs. "No shit."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Luke shrugs and looks away. He doesn't know what to do with an apology. It doesn't change anything.  
  
"You still love me, right?" Michael whispers.   
  
Luke sighs. He's suddenly exhausted. "Don't do that."   
  
When Michael doesn't respond but his posture tightens, Luke realizes Michael wasn't being manipulative. He was really asking. They don't fight often but Michael hates it when they do. It brings back bad memories.   
  
"Fuck," Luke mumbles. He goes quickly over and pulls Michael into his arms. Michael clings to him. "Yes," he murmurs into Michael's hair. "Of course I do."  
  
"I'm so sorry," Michael breathes. "I screwed up but I can fix it, I'll fix it. Don't hate me, okay?"  
  
"Never," Luke promises. He holds Michael's face in his hands, kisses him, and then presses words into his skin. "I love you so much. That doesn't change because I wish you hadn't done something. It doesn't change if we fight."  
  
"Sometimes I'm still scared you'll stop," Michael admits in a wavering voice. "And I know that's shitty of me. It's like saying I don't believe in you, but it's me. I don't believe in me."  
  
"I do." Luke kisses his nose, his forehead, the corner of his mouth. "It's okay. Whatever happens, we'll deal with it together."  
  
Michael takes a breath and it vibrates. His shaky hands grip the back of Luke's shirt and his face presses into Luke's shoulder, like he's trying to burrow into Luke's frame and stop existing as two separate people.  
  
"It's okay," Luke says again, rubbing Michael's back. He's so upset, and Luke shouldn't have been so angry at him. It just made everything worse. Luke is worried there will be ramifications for this that could ruin everything, and it came out in shouted words. "Shh, it's okay, baby."  
  
He makes it better the only way he knows how; by holding Michael's cheeks again and kissing him, deep and urgent right away. Michael's throat gets caught on a half-sob and he kisses back, his tongue pushing into Luke's mouth to taste him. They stumble backwards to the bed, pulling clothes away from each other's bodies as they go and falling in a mess of long limbs and naked skin. Michael takes Luke's hand and guides it down between his own legs, wordlessly asking for what he wants so he doesn't have to detach his mouth from Luke's to discuss it. Luke slides the heel of his palm up the underside of Michael's cock, pressing into the hardened flesh. He touches lower, rubbing the tip of a finger in small circles over the hole and pushing inside just to the first knuckle. Michael pushes back against Luke's hand, wanting more.  
  
"Please?" Michael requests. His normally loud voice is small.  
  
Luke kisses his cheek and leaves him just for a moment to find what they need in his bag and hook the chain lock over the door just in case his roommate comes back unexpectedly. He flicks the light switch off as well. He feels like they need darkness right now. It's safer.  
  
Michael's hair is spread out like a blue halo around his head on the pillow. One foot is up on the mattress and his arm draped over his stomach, hard cock resting at an angle against his hip. His cheeks are flushed, but his eyes are still sad, and Luke aches inside. He crawls back over him, kissing him and whispering loving words into his lips, as he spreads lube over his fingers and slips two of them inside. Michael shivers and reaches for Luke's arms, needing his hands on something.  
  
He's so soft and warm inside, so many times Luke has ended it just like this, just like how they are now; Michael on his back and Luke pressed to his side with three fingers buried in him, twisting and petting the spot inside that makes Michael moan and dig his nails into Luke's skin. Luke loves it, he loves watching Michael slowly fall apart. He loves being the thing that holds all those scattered pieces together when it's over. This time, Michael wants more than that, and Luke gives it to him, parting his fingers to stretch, pulling gently at the rim, and then when Michael nods rubbing slick over himself and pushing slowly in. Michael's nails do press into Luke's skin, and he whimpers as Luke bottoms out, but it isn't pain. It's just overwhelming. Luke knows the feeling.  
  
They move together, slow and then quick, a rhythm packed with lulls and crescendos. Michael holds onto him, and Luke gets lost in the sensations and the soft grunts and the heat in his stomach.  
  
Michael's legs go around his waist, heels digging into the small of Luke's back, urging him to go faster. Luke does, and a moan spills past his lips, needy and desperate. Michael clenches around him, trying to coax him closer to the edge and it works because he knows every inch of Luke. Heat pools and his skin contracts and Luke sighs as he spills into Michael, every muscle in his body tensing and then releasing and leaving him feeling like he's floating on a cloud.   
  
Michael is still hard between them, and panting and not letting go of Luke.   
  
"How do you wanna ...?" Luke asks.   
  
"Just keep going," Michael begs.   
  
Instead, Luke tilts his hips and pulls himself out, placating Michael's whine by replacing the loss with his fingers. He finds the spot inside and rubs it, presses against it and doesn't let up.  
  
Michael whimpers, and trembles, and comes with a soft cry that Luke swallows up with his mouth.   
  
He wipes his hand and settles next to Michael, close enough for breath to pass back and forth between them.  
  
"I'm sorry I yelled," Luke says softly.  
  
Michael shakes his head. They're so close on the pillow that Luke can barely see him, and Michael's nose brushes against his. "I'm sorry I fucked up."  
  
"You were just lookin' out for me." Luke slides the backs of his knuckles over Michael's cheek, and Michael's eyes close and he turns into the touch.  
  
“Do you really think this will cause problems?”  
  
Luke exhales. “I really don’t know. I hope not.”

"Sometimes I scare myself," Michael admits. "The things I'd be willing to do for you. If someone ever really hurt you ... I'm scared of what I would do to them."  
  
"I'll take that as a compliment."  
  
"I'm so screwed up. I'm sorry."  
  
"No," Luke murmurs. He wraps his arms around Michael and pulls him in closer. Michael tucks his head under Luke's chin. "You aren't."  
  
Michael nods. "Okay."


	11. endeka

“When is the hearing?” Calum asks Michael.  
   
“In a few hours,” Michael answers. He’s been tense all morning. So has Luke.  
   
“How bad do you think it’ll be?”  
   
Michael shrugs. “I don’t know. Bad probably.”  
   
“This is so stupid.” PK stretches his arms over his head, leaning back in his chair.   
   
They’re in the lobby of the hotel, in soft chairs around a fireplace. Luke and Michael are on the loveseat, and Ashton is on the floor, leaning with his back against Luke’s legs.  
   
“It’s not like that ass-hat didn’t deserve it,” PK continues. “You were standing up for your team and your boyfriend, why the hell is that a crime? Maybe if the refs were doing their damn job he would’ve been getting penalties like he deserved and then this whole thing wouldn’t have happened at all.”  
   
“That’s not really the point,” Ashton says.  
   
“I know it isn’t the point,” Michael says tensely.   
   
“I didn’t …” Ashton trails off and doesn’t finish his sentence. They’re all on edge.  
   
“Do you want us to come with you?” Carey asks.  
   
Michael shakes his head.  
   
“I’m coming,” Calum says. He’s been very quiet, the last 24 hours. Luke suspects he’s mad that Michael could’ve been injured, and probably also at everything else. Mad at the Swiss player who made this all happen. Mad at the fact that Michael is in trouble for it. Calum doesn’t have a firm grip on his emotions where Michael is concerned.  
   
“You don’t need to,” Michael mutters.  
   
Calum glares at him. He’s sitting across from them, on the stone hearth of the fireplace. “I didn’t ask.”  
   
Michael doesn’t respond. The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile.  
   
Luke smiles for him, if Michael is too proud to do it. “Thanks, Cal,” he says softly.  
   
Calum just nods at him, still serious but in solidarity. He’s a bit scary when he’s angry. Luke’s glad it’s never been directed at him.  
   
“Luke, your family is coming soon?” Ashton asks, changing the subject.  
   
“Yeah, tomorrow,” Luke answers.   
   
“That’ll be fun.”  
   
Luke nods, even though Ashton is sitting in front of him and is looking the other way so he can’t see a nod, and the conversation falls away into thick silence. Luke doesn’t know what to say any more than the rest of them. He can hope Michael will get nothing more than a slap on the wrist and a month from now none of this will matter, but hope doesn’t accomplish anything. He can’t be certain about any of it. Beside him, Michael shifts like he’s uncomfortable. Silently, Luke takes his hand, and threads their fingers together.  
   
*           *           *  
   
“Mr. Clifford? They’ll see you now,” a woman with blond hair in a tight, high bun says. Her skirt and blazer are dark blue. It matches her eyes. They’re sharp and cold, underneath high-arched eyebrows and makeup so perfect she almost doesn’t look human. The click of her heels on the marble floor is loud, echoing off the walls, as she turns and disappears back through the double doors.  
   
“Good luck,” Luke whispers, rubbing Michael’s leg. He’s in a suit, to appear professional, and the fabric makes a rustling sound against Luke’s skin.  
   
Michael doesn’t look at him as he gets up and follows the blond woman into the other room.  
   
He’s being allowed a hearing – a chance to defend himself – before the committee makes a decision on his punishment for the fight. Luke’s hands sweat as he waits. He rubs them on his pants and then crosses his arms tightly to keep from picking at his nails until they bleed. His leg bounces anxiously. He has no idea what to expect, and nothing solid to go on.  
   
“It’s gonna be okay,” Calum say, sitting next to Luke. It’s a nice sentiment but he doesn’t know that, so it doesn’t really help.  
   
Michael received a text message from their coach last night. It said _When you get back, you’re benched. Indefinitely._ When Michael responded, he got nothing else in return.   
   
In a state of panic, Luke phoned him. “This isn’t up for debate,” Therrien had said, instead of hello.  
   
“No, I don’t care about that. Just, tell me you’re not thinking of trading him over this.”  
   
“I can’t discuss that with you.”  
   
“I know he messed up but you saw that guy, the way he was tossing people around! Anyone would have lost control. Michael saw me get knocked out my first year, remember? Isn’t it understandable that he’d get scared when he thought it was happening again?” Luke knew he was rambling, and wasn’t making sense.  
   
“Maybe that’s exactly the point!” Therrien had snapped. “If his relationship with you means he can’t control himself on the ice then we have a much bigger problem than this one incident, don’t we?”  
   
“ _Please_. C’mon, you know this affects me too. Just, please. If you’re gonna send him away I need to know.”  
   
After a long, stilted pause, Therrien said, “I’m not planning on trading him. But if something like this ever happens again …”  
   
“It won’t,” Luke promised, on behalf of Michael.  
   
And now he’s here, in a hallway in an uncomfortable plastic chair, waiting to find out if maybe Michael is about to be sent home, or fined, or something even worse.  
   
“This reminds me of the hospital,” Calum says darkly.  
   
Luke is confused. “What hospital?”  
   
“After Michael’s dad hit him with the car.” Calum rubs his hands over his face, digging his fingers into his closed eyes. “When you and I were sitting in that hallway, waiting to find out if he was gonna be okay. Covered in his blood from the ride over.”  
   
Luke swallows over a lump that grows in his throat. “I think that was the worst day of my life.”  
   
“Mine too. His dad did shit when we were kids but … it was never like that.”  
   
“I talked to Therrien,” Luke offers, realising no one but Michael knows that yet. “He’s pissed, he’s benching Michael when we get back home, but that’s it. And that probably won’t last for long anyway, we wanna win and Michael scores goals, so. He won’t stay mad for too long.”  
   
He isn’t as confident about that as he’s pretending to be.  
   
The door opens again, and the woman sticks her head back out. “You’re Mr. Hemmings?” she asks, looking at Luke. The e in his name is elongated in her thick French accent.   
   
He nods, and she beckons with a red finger-nailed hand.  
   
“They would like for you to join us.”  
   
Luke frowns. He wasn’t expecting that, he just came along for moral support. He gets up and follows her, leaving Calum to wait alone in the hall. The room she leads him into is cavernous, and a panel of maybe ten people are sitting behind an enormous wooden desk. Michael is in a chair facing them, and he twists around to meet Luke’s eyes. He looks worried. Luke wishes he could comfort him.  
   
The blond woman gets Luke a chair and he sits in it, next to Michael.  
   
“Good morning, Mr. Hemmings,” the man right in the center begins. His accent is British. “I am the head of the disciplinary commission. We are here today to decide what punishment, if any, Mr. Clifford should face for his actions yesterday.”  
   
Luke nods. That much, he already knew.  
   
“I have asked for you to join us because we understand there is a relationship,” the commissioner continues. “And that the nature of this relationship was the motivation behind Mr. Clifford’s attack on another player during yesterday’s game.”  
   
“It – ” Michael begins, but he is cut off when the man raises a hand.  
   
“Do not bother denying it, young man. The purpose of this hearing is for us to understand what happened and to decide on appropriate action to be taken, lying to the commission will not help you.”  
   
Michael falls silent. Luke clenches his jaw and wants to start throwing punches himself.   
   
“This is … a unique situation,” the woman sitting to the commissioner’s left. Luke looks at her, and she smiles sympathetically. “It is not the mandate of the International Olympic Committee to discriminate based on sexuality, however we have never before encountered a same-sex couple playing the same sport for opposing countries. Mr. Clifford’s actions yesterday were perhaps understandable, given the circumstances, but not acceptable. We hold sportsmanship above all else here.”  
   
“Hockey can at times be a violent game, but retribution based on personal matters will not be tolerated,” the commissioner states heavily. “An Olympic sporting event is not an appropriate avenue for you to exact revenge on someone you feel has wronged you.”  
   
“Can I say something?” Michael asks quietly.  
   
The woman turns her palm up and gestures to him. “Please.”  
   
“I understand that what I did was wrong. But it wasn’t planned. It wasn’t revenge. Sure, I _wanted_ to hit him after he hit Luke the day before, but I wasn’t going to go through with it.” Michael swallows. “And then we were on the ice, and he was endangering the safety of _my_ teammates with illegal checks, and I lost my temper. I know that isn’t a good excuse, but I wasn’t … exacting revenge. Emotions run high during games. Sometimes you lose your head a little.”  
   
“And that’s what this was?” the woman asks.  
   
Michael nods.   
   
She presses her lips together, and exchanges a poignant look with the commissioner on her right. Luke’s heart speeds up, hammering in his chest.  
   
The commissioner takes a pen and begins to write, and speaks as he does. “You will be suspended for one game. You will not be allowed on the premises while your team plays without you. We invite you to use that time to reflect on the mistake that you made, and to imagine ways in which you could prevent it from reoccurring in the future.”  
   
Michael sighs in relief audibly. “Okay. Yes, I will, thank you.”  
   
The knot in Luke’s chest loosens, and then just as quickly, it tightens again when the commissioner looks up at them over his glasses and continues.   
   
“That isn’t all.” He looks at Luke, briefly, and then back at Michael. “We cannot object to any of our athletes being in romantic relationships with each other. We would not want to. However, we can object to one of those relationships putting in jeopardy the safety of another athlete.”  
   
“What does that mean?” Michael asks.  
   
“If the presence of Mr. Hemmings is what causes you to – to use your words, _lose your head_ , then his presence is what will be removed in order to ensure that this does not happen again. Mr. Clifford, you will be moved to a different hotel immediately. I am banning the two of you from contacting each other for the remainder of these Games.”  
   
The words hit Luke like concrete. They hurt but they’re too thick and weighted, and for just a moment he doesn’t understand. “You’re – what?”  
   
“You are not to see each other. You are not to speak on the phone. You are not to attend each other’s games. The only time the two of you are permitted to be within one hundred meters of each other is when your respective teams are playing. On the ice, this ban has no effect. Everywhere else, you are strangers until the Olympic flame is put out at the end of the closing ceremonies. Is that clear?”  
   
“You can’t do that,” Michael breathes.  
   
“I absolutely can. This is the alternative to us disqualifying you altogether, Mr. Clifford. Because we believe in second chances, we are removing the problem, instead of the athlete.” He scribbles one additional thing onto the paper, and then stamps it with a seal. “The matter is closed. We will arrange for your belongings to be moved from your current hotel room. After that happens, if you are found in each other’s company, you will have violated the conditions of this agreement and we will take further action.”  
   
Luke wants to argue, but he understands that they’re being dismissed. “C’mon,” he mutters to Michael, tugging on his sleeve to make sure Michael gets up and follows, because he’s worried Michael is going to snap and say something stupid and get himself in even more trouble.  
   
In the hallway, Michael swears and covers his face with his hands. “Are they serious?”  
   
Luke exhales. “I guess so.”  
   
Calum stands beside them, his posture agitated. He grabs Michael’s arm. “What? What happened?”  
   
“I’m not – ” Michael lowers his voice and looks at Luke. “We’re not fucking doing this.”  
   
“Hey,” Calum snaps. “Tell me what happened.”  
   
“He got suspended for a game,” Luke says. “And we’re not allowed to see each other anymore.”  
   
Calum blinks and his eyes narrow. “Excuse me?” he asks, in a dangerous voice.  
   
“No, not like … I mean, during the rest of the Games. They’re moving Michael to a different hotel and they banned us from spending time together off the ice.”  
   
“What the fuck?” Calum pronounces. “Can they even do that?”  
   
Luke shrugs helplessly.  
   
“Did you say anything?” Calum demands. “Did you tell them that’s fucking ridiculous?”  
   
Michael jerks his arm out of Calum’s grasp. “Get off,” he mutters. “What was I supposed to say? If I argued maybe they would’ve made it worse.”  
   
“It could’ve been so much worse,” Luke agrees, to remind himself of that fact as much as everyone else. “There’s only ten days left. This isn’t so bad, I can go ten days without seeing you. No one is gonna die. If this keeps them happy and keeps them from sending you home or slapping you with a huge fine or something, then this is okay. It sucks but it’s okay.”  
   
Michael walks a few steps away and faces the wall. Luke looks at Calum, and finds his face worried. When Michael turns back around, he doesn’t look quite as angry, but he just walks away. Luke stares after him, dumbfounded, until Calum nudges his shoulder.  
   
“Go,” Calum says, nodding in Michael’s direction.  
   
Luke jogs after him, down three flights of stairs and out onto the street, and catches up to Michael. “Hey,” he pants, catching Michael by the sleeve and stopping him. “Where are you going?”  
   
“I don’t know.” Michael shakes his head. “To pack, I guess. They’re shipping me off somewhere. Probably the furthest hotel they can find away from you.”  
   
“We will figure this out,” Luke promises him. He holds Michael’s face in his hands and kisses him, not caring that they’re in the street in broad daylight and they made an agreement not to do that in public while they’re here.  
   
Michael’s hands find Luke’s waist, and when their lips fall apart he rests his forehead against Luke’s collarbone. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.   
   
“I know,” Luke whispers back. “It’s okay, really. We got off pretty easy, I think.”  
   
“I don’t think I’ve ever spent ten days away from you.”  
   
Luke kisses his hair. “Just think of the reunion sex.”  
   
Michael laughs a little. “True. That’ll be fun.”  
   
“This is alright, Michael.”  
   
“You don’t hate me, right?”  
   
“Never,” Luke promises.  
   
*           *           *


	12. dodeka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for being so patient and supportive (especially anons on tumblr, you guys rock) while I worked though terrible writers' block!! And thanks to my Carly for holding my hand and cheering me on.

Luke waits on a white plastic bench, with Ashton next to him, at the train station. It’s cold; Luke tugs his coat in tighter around his shoulders and wishes he’d brought a scarf. The brisk wind whips past them, stinging his bare cheeks.  
   
“It’s late, I guess,” Ashton says, pushing his red glove down a bit to check his watch. He’s the only person Luke knows who still bothers wearing a wrist-watch, and actually using it to tell the time instead of his phone.  
   
They’re waiting for Luke's family to arrive by bullet train from the airport, like Luke and his teammates did a week ago. Luke is excited to see them. He’s less excited about the fact that Michael won’t be able to see them. He’s been moved across the village, and Luke can see the building from the window of his hotel room but he can’t go over there and see Michael. Luke is grateful because he knows they got off easy. He knows it could’ve been a lot worse. But his family loves Michael and Michael loves his family and it sucks that they won’t be able to spend time together on this visit. Luke is going to have to bring Michael home for a long time this summer to make up for it. His mom doesn’t know about the ban yet. Michael’s suspension made the papers and everything but the other part of their deal wasn’t made public. Luke isn’t sure whether to be comforted by that or not. Either way, his mom isn’t going to be happy.  
   
As a silver lining, they’re in the second week of the Games now and the competition is increasing as they get closer to the end, to the four teams who will play for three medals. Luke’s team is doing well, but so are Canada and Sweden and Germany and Russia, and it will all come down to just a few points. Luke is too stressed to think about much else. His game yesterday was as intense as the playoff games Luke’s been in back home. This feels almost exactly like playoff series, even though Luke only met nearly everyone on his team a week ago. He still feels a sense of brotherhood with them, and every time they’re on the ice together he wants to win for them as much as for himself.  
   
“You’d think after so many years in Canada we’d be used to this kind of weather by now,” Luke complains. He shivers, and flexes his fingers in his gloves. His knuckles are stiffened by the sub-zero temperature.  
   
“Does anyone ever really get used to it? Michael and Cal lived there for their whole lives and they aren’t. They still get cold.”  
   
“I never would’ve thought of Korea as being like this.” Luke sniffs and wipes his nose. The wind makes it drip. “I guess I knew there were mountains but I didn’t think it was ever winter here.”  
   
“Can I interrupt the small-talk and ask you a real question?”  
   
“Yes.” Luke doesn’t need him to ask. Ashton’s been Luke’s best friend since the day he arrived in Montreal. He was the first person, other than Michael, who knew Luke wasn’t straight. He’s been there for Luke during so many things, stuck by him through injuries and hard fought losses in the playoffs and drama with Michael’s dad and the shit the media still puts them through sometimes. He’s more than earned the right to ask Luke whatever real questions he wants.  
   
“Are you mad at Michael?”  
   
Luke looks at him – at Ashton’s golden curls that whip around his head in the breeze. His hair is longer, now, than when Luke met him. It’s not just a mop of curls on the top of his head; lately it frames his face and falls nearly as long as the tops of his shoulders. Luke likes it on him.  
   
“For getting suspended? No,” Luke says honestly. He shakes his head to emphasize, and also a bit to warm up his brain that feels like it’s in a freezer. “I was, at first. Because I was worried it was gonna be really bad. But I believe him, that he never planned it. That he just lost it when the guy was throwing people around.”  
   
Ashton nods. “Okay. Good. ‘Cause Cal and I were at that game, you know, and that guy was being worse than an asshole. He was being dangerous. Michael was standing up for his whole team.”  
   
“I know that. I was just freaked out, I thought …” Luke swallows and considers his words. “I thought he was gonna get into a lot more trouble than he did. And I thought that once we get back home, maybe they’d send him away.”  
   
The ground rumbles, and a horn blasts, and Ashton doesn’t get a chance to answer as the white, tube-shaped train suddenly rushes by in front of them and then slows to an eventual stop. It’s chaos as the passengers spill out through the opened doors; most of the tourists in various colors, here to support their countries. Luke and Ashton stand, and when they can’t see anything, Ashton climbs up onto the bench they’d just been sitting on and holds onto Luke’s shoulders for balance as he jumps up and down a few times, trying to spot them.  
   
“There,” he says, pointing to the left of where they’re standing. “There’s two blond heads towering over everyone. That has to be your brothers.”  
   
Ashton jumps down off the bend and Luke follows him as they weave through the crowd. Luke can just see over the top of Ashton’s head, and he spots his family just as they spot him. His mom squeals, but the person who finds her embrace first is Ashton, not Luke.  
   
“Hi!” she cries excitedly, holding Ashton tight in her arms.  
   
Ashton hugs her back and giggles.  
   
Luke rolls his eyes. “She’s my mother, dude! Get your own.”  
   
“Mine isn’t here,” Ashton says, not letting go of Liz. “And yours is my second mom and I haven’t seen her in months so shut it.”  
   
Luke hugs his dad and brothers instead, and then his mom when finally she releases Ashton. He’s so happy to see them. He’s happy they support him enough to come all this way just to see him play for their country. Although, he isn’t surprised. They’ve has always been willing to do anything and everything to see him succeed. His brothers put up with their family moving to three new cities before Luke was 14 just so he could play for the best team that would have him. They were teenagers themselves, and they had to give up their own teams and their friends and their whole lives, and they never complained. Luke owes everything he has now to his family. Without their sacrifices he never would have made the NHL, and without that he never would have met the love of his life.  
   
“Hello, angel,” Liz says, wrapping Luke up in a hug so warm he momentarily forgets how cold it is.  
   
“Am I at least your second favorite?” Luke jokes.  
   
“How could I possibly pick favorites when I have so many boys to love?” Liz pulls back and cups his cheeks. “But you are my baby and you always will be.”  
   
“How was the flight?” Ashton shakes Luke’s father’s hand as he asks, and then greets Ben and Jack with much manlier hugs than he gave Liz.  
   
“Long,” Ben answers.  
   
“I bet you guys are used to flying,” Jack adds. “I think the longest flight I’ve ever been on was like two hours. It felt like we were on that plane for a week and a half. I think I’d aged ten years by the time we landed.”  
   
“It was long for us, too. Believe me,” Ashton says.  
   
“That’s a nasty wind!” Andy tugs his jacket in tighter as Luke did earlier, when they were waiting.  
   
“It hasn’t been quite this cold until today. We should get to the hotel before we all freeze to death.” Luke’s eyes wander toward the street, hoping they can find a taxi van so they won’t need to take two vehicles.  
   
 “Speaking of my many children, where’s Michael?” Liz looks around to make sure he isn’t with them, and then turns her blue eyes inquisitively up to Luke.  
   
Luke exchanges a look with Ashton.  
   
“What?” Liz asks warily, glancing back and forth between them.  
   
“Kind of a long story,” Luke says. He doesn’t feel much like getting into it just now, but he supposes they’ll have to. Although the back of a taxi is probably a better place to do it than out here in the elements.  
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke gets his family settled in their own hotel room – the four of them cramped in one room because it’s cheaper, and because places to stay weren’t easy to come by, with people here from all over the world. As predicted, Liz is upset, although more with the people who banned Michael from seeing Luke than with Michael himself. Luke should have guessed she would be on their side. She always is. It’s nearly dark, and he walks back to his own hotel. It’s on the way to the hotel where Calum and Ashton are staying, so Ashton walks with him.  
   
“Do you actually have tickets to all our games?” Luke asks. His team plays Austria tomorrow. If they win, they advance to a quarter-final game against the winner of Sweden vs. Finland.  
   
“We do.” Ashton grins. “Me and Cal will be there tomorrow, with our chests painted like American flags.”  
   
“If you end up on T.V. back home you’ll never live that down.”  
   
“Hey, I’m American too,” Ashton points out. “Just because we play in Canada and literally all of our close friends are Canadian, doesn’t mean I’m rooting for red and white. Team U.S.A. all the way, man. I’m on your side.”  
   
“Is anyone else?”  
   
“Probably not. That’s why you need me. Well, me and your family.”  
   
“You know what, I bet if you told Ben and Jack about painting your chests, they’d do it too. At least Jack would. Unless you weren’t serious.”  
   
“I was completely serious. I brought body paint.”  
   
“Oh my God.” Luke laughs.  
   
Calum is standing outside the hotel as they approach, in his black cloth coat and a Team Canada beanie.  
   
“You better take that off before tomorrow,” Ashton calls to him. “You may be a maple syrup drinker but tomorrow we are cheering for Luke.”  
   
“Yeah, no shit, he’s playing Austria,” Calum answers. “But if Luke ends up playing Canada in the medal rounds, I’m cheering for my country and my best friend, and you’ll just have to deal with it.”  
   
“Let’s not start an international incident over this, it’s just hockey,” Luke says.  
   
Calum smacks his hand to his gut and clutches it, doubling over and pretending Luke just sucker-punched him. “ _Just hockey_. That hurt me in my _heart_.”  
   
“What are you doing here?”  
   
Calum looks back up and grins mischievously. “Ash texted and said you were on your way back. Did your family get in okay?”  
   
“Yes. And you still haven’t said why you’re here.”  
   
“I’m the official messenger boy.” Calum reaches into his pocket and holds out a folded piece of paper. “For you, Sir Hemmings.”  
   
Luke raises an eyebrow but Calum just smiles at him, so Luke takes the note and unfolds it. In Michael’s messy handwriting, it says _Come upstairs. Alone. :)_  
   
He reads it over twice, because it doesn’t make sense. “Um. What?”  
   
Calum sighs. “Michael is in your room. Obviously.”  
   
Luke blinks. “… _What_?”  
   
“Have you forgotten how to English?” Ashton shoves his shoulder. “Go!”  
   
“No, but, how?”  
   
“Oh, we’re all in on it.” Calum winks at him. “Mikey doesn’t trust that they’re not monitoring your phones, even though I told him that’s ridiculous and totally illegal, so he made me wait out here to tell you instead of texting you.”  
   
“What about Blake?”  
   
“Your roommate has unofficially moved in with his family at their hotel for the rest of the week,” Calum explains. “You just can’t tell anyone, because technically he isn’t supposed to do that. I guess the official whoever likes to know where all the athletes are staying. In case of emergencies or whatever.”  
   
“Will you just go?” Ashton urges again. “It’s cold as fuck out here, I would like to go back to my own room before I freeze my nuts off. C’mon, Cal.”  
   
With two identical smirks, they start walking away, the snow crunching under their shoes and their silhouettes disappearing into the dark. Luke stares after them with his mouth open, and then he makes his way up to the seventh floor. He tries to keep his face straight. He has no idea how Michael snuck in here without anyone noticing, the place is always crawling with Olympic officials and volunteers with blue t-shirts over their winter coats, but Luke doesn’t want to give anything away with a stupid grin on his face. He swipes his key-card through the lock and opens the door slowly. There is a figure in shadows, standing by the open window, looking out at the sea of lights. It turns at the noise, and Luke can barely make out Michael’s face in the dark room.  
   
“Hi,” Michael says quietly. “How’s your family?”  
   
Luke doesn’t say anything.  
   
“Will you close the door before someone sees?” Michael laughs softly. Luke does. “Seriously, everything good? Their flight was alright?”  
   
Luke nods, and then voices it because nothing but moonlight illuminates the space between them. “Yes. They’re all here, all good. What … why are you here?”  
   
Michael walks forward. As he gets closer Luke notices he’s in nothing but snug black boxer-briefs. The moonlight bounces off his porcelain skin, the black ink of tattoos a sharp contrast. “Because I missed you.”  
   
He closes the last bit of distance between them, arms going around Luke’s waist and lips pressing softly into Luke’s. Luke melts into the kiss, putty in Michael’s hands like he always is. He hooks his fingers together around the back of Michael’s neck and opens his mouth against Michael’s.  
   
“You shouldn’t be here,” Luke whispers. His body doesn’t listen to his own words. His fingers travel up into Michael’s hair and tilt his head to deepen the kiss.  
   
“I missed you too, Michael,” Michael says.  
   
Luke smiles. “It’s been two days.”  
   
Michael raises an eyebrow. “Should I go?”  
   
“No.” Luke brushes his hair back off his forehead. “I missed you tons. But you still shouldn’t be here. What if we get caught?”  
   
“We won’t.”  
   
“You don’t know that.”  
   
“No one knows I’m here except Cal, Ash, and your roommate. And they all promised they wouldn’t tell.”  
   
Luke blushes a little at the thought of Blake being made aware of what was going to happen in his room once he left. He doesn’t know his new teammate well enough yet to be comfortable about it. “You didn’t kick him out, did you?”  
   
“Of course not. He said he was planning on staying with his family the rest of the time, anyway. He wanted to be with them.” Michael shrugged. “And I wanna be with you.”  
   
“Michael, you can’t stay here.”  
   
“I won’t.” Michael kisses his cheek. “I’ve got a hat and sunglasses. I’ll sneak out early in the morning, back to my own hotel.”  
   
“If we get caught, I don’t even know what. You’ll be disqualified. Therrien will be pissed. Things could get really bad.”  
   
Michael’s eyebrows stitch together. He reaches up to brush his fingers lovingly over Luke’s cheek, over the spot where his lips just were. “I promise I won’t let that happen.”  
   
Against his better judgement, Luke believes him. Because he wants to. It has only been two days, but Luke did miss him, and now that Michael is back in his arms Luke isn’t strong enough to let go and send him away. He slides their lips together again, breaking the kiss only to pull his shirt over his head, wanting to catch up to Michael since he’s almost fully undressed already. Michael shoves at Luke’s jeans, pushing them down over his hips and taking his boxers with them. Luke stumbles as he tries to step out of them but Michael’s catches him and they tumble together onto the bed.  
   
Bathed in just silver light from the moon, Michael’s skin looks magical. Luke kisses every inch of it, along Michael’s collar bones and down his chest, sucking bruises his teammates will see into Michael’s hips. Michael shivers underneath him, with his hands in Luke’s hair and the warm, soft taste of his skin on Luke’s tongue. Reaching lower, Luke pushes at Michael’s boxers, getting them down just enough to pull out his erection and curl his fingers around it.  
   
“Luke,” Michael breathes. “Fuck, has it really only been two days? I missed you so much, it could’ve been a month.”  
   
“You’re insatiable,” Luke tells him, and he means it as a compliment. He huddles between Michael’s legs and takes the head of his cock into his mouth, sucking at it, licking in circles, reducing Michael to desperate moans.  
   
“Stop,” Michael breathes, pushing at Luke’s shoulder.  
   
Luke does, and crawls back up Michael’s body, kissing along the way as he goes. He drags the flat of his tongue over a purple bruise just above Michael’s left hipbone and then blows cool air on it, just to watch the skin prickle into bumps. He lies on top of Michael and kisses him again, slotting his hips against Michael’s so he can grind into him, their cocks rubbing together in the space between their bodies. Michael kisses back hard, and nips at Luke’s bottom lip, and rocks up into him.  
   
“Let me up, wanna ride you,” Michael says, his voice dark and raspy.  
   
Luke loses his breath for a moment, and then can’t stop kissing Michael long enough to honor his request. When he does manage to flip them over, Michael has to leave for just a moment to get what they need and then he’s back and climbing into Luke’s lap and sinking onto his cock before Luke can wrap his lust-soaked brain around what’s happening.  
   
“Did you…?” Luke asks, gaping up at Michael.  
   
Michael’s mouth is open and his eyes are closed, as he slowly works himself onto Luke until his ass is flush against Luke’s thighs. “Yeah,” he mumbles, breathing heavy. “Before you got here.”  
   
“Holy fuck,” Luke whispers. His fingers grip Michael’s hips as they start to move, rolling in small circles. Luke is dizzy from it and wants everything so much. It’s all heightened by the knowledge of how little time they have. Michael should probably go back to his own hotel tonight, instead, just in case someone checks on him in the morning. Luke is probably being paranoid, but they have so much to lose, and Luke isn’t willing to lose any of it. He doesn’t have the heart to say any of that just now, though. For the moment, he just drowns in it all – in the feeling of Michael surrounding every inch of him and Michael’s tongue in his mouth and Michael’s hands in his hair and their souls wrapped up together.  
   
*           *           *


	13. dekatria

Luke goes back on his internal words and lets Michael stay until morning, because he’s a bit helpless where Michael is concerned and Michael is warm and curled up with his head tucked under Luke’s chin and Luke isn’t strong enough to make him leave. Luke wakes up slowly as light begins to filter in through the curtains and falls across his face. He checks the digital clock by the bed and it’s nearly 7 AM, and if Michael doesn’t leave soon he’ll get trapped in the throngs of tourists and athletes and employees as the village comes to life, and then they’ll be in more trouble than Luke cares to contemplate, especially thirty seconds after waking up.  
   
He nudges Michael’s forehead with his chin and kisses it. “Wake up,” he says into Michael’s skin and then kisses it again.  
   
“Mmpf,” Michael responds, a half-asleep, unhappy groan. “No.”  
   
“Baby, you have to.” Luke curls his arms around Michael and hugs him, and then shakes him gently. “You gotta go.”  
   
Michael turns into him, pressing his face into Luke’s neck and stretching a little but making no effort to move.  
   
“Michael,” Luke whispers.  
   
“Say it again.”  
   
“Say what?”  
   
“My name.” Michael’s mouth curves into a smile against Luke’s shoulder. “I still like hearing you say it.”  
   
“What about hearing me moan it while you’re fucking me?” Luke asks, smiling too.   
   
Michael laughs. It’s low and rich and scratchy and it makes Luke shiver as it vibrates between them. “Yeah. I like that too.”  
   
“Michael,” Luke repeats in a soft murmur. Reluctantly, he adds, “but you really need to get up now. As much as I wish we could stay here forever.”  
   
Grumbling about it, Michael listens. He removes himself from Luke’s arms and dresses quickly. Luke gets up too, and grimaces as he finds his discarded t-shirt to pull over his head and cover the sticky remnants of their night together that is still on his chest. He needs a shower. Michael tugs a beanie over his messy hair, pulling it all the way down to cover the bright blue that might give him away. Luke pulls him into one last kiss at the door, and it lingers for longer than it should. Michael’s lips slide against his, slow and soft, and then Luke takes the sunglasses from Michael’s hand and puts them onto his boyfriend’s face.  
   
“You look like a bank robber,” Luke tells him.  
   
“That would be much more exciting.”  
   
“Text me when you get back, okay? I wanna know you made it.”  
   
“What if – ”  
   
“They haven’t hacked into your phone.” Luke rolls his eyes a little and kisses the tip of Michael’s nose. “Yeah, Cal mentioned you’re worried about that. But they couldn’t. They’d need, like, a court order to do something like that. And you have to have broken the law for them to get one, and you didn’t.”  
   
“It’s still a risk.”  
   
“More of a risk than coming here? Than spending the night here with me and sneaking back out in sunglasses?” Luke raises an eyebrow. When Michael just tilts his head instead of responding, Luke says, “Okay, fine, text Calum then. In like, some cryptic way that he would understand but no one else would. I know you can do that, I know the two of you practically have your own language. And then he can text me. They haven’t tapped _his_ phone.”  
   
“Okay,” Michael agrees.  
   
“And be safe.” Luke can’t help it, he wraps his arms around Michael’s waist and kisses him one more time.  
   
“I love you,” Michael says. “Be brilliant in the game today.”  
   
Luke returns the sentiment, and closes the door behind him as Michael leaves.  
   
*           *           *  
   
The puck drops, and Luke’s blood surges through his veins. He isn’t even on the ice – he wasn’t chosen to start this time – but the game begins and he narrows his eyes as he watches from the bench, in full concentration. It’s a scramble, and one of Luke’s teammates ends up with the puck on his stick so both teams momentarily retreat, setting themselves into position. Luke hops over the boards and onto the ice for the second shift. The damp, cool air fills his lungs and rushes past his face. He blinks it out of his eyes and keeps them open.   
   
An Austrian player in a red jersey has the puck, and Luke gets in his face and picks the puck off his stick with ease. He flicks it across the ice in a diagonal, aiming for the blade of T.J. Oshie’s stick. It connects with a loud crack, and Oshie takes off. Luke bursts into a sprint to follow him. Another player in red lunges for him but Luke stops short and to avoid him. The check misses him by just an inch, and Luke keeps going. The puck comes back to him, and Luke keeps it glued to his stick as he dances around a defenceman. His chest heaves with the effort but he heaves his body forward. He approaches the net, and the goalie squares up to face Luke’s impending assault. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke can see Oshie in white and blue closing in on the other side, and just at the last second, with a quick snap of his wrist, he slides the puck back over laterally. Oshie picks it up and it’s in the back of the net, over the goalie’s shoulder, before the net-minder has time to register the change in circumstance.  
   
“Yes,” Luke hisses to himself under his breath. Oshie’s arms go in the air and they both circle around to the back of the net so they can connect in celebration.   
   
“In the first minute, fuck yeah,” Cam Fowler yells as he descends on the scene and wraps his arms around both of them. Cam is just a few years older than Luke, and they’ve become sort-of friends in the week that they’ve been teammates. He clunks his plastic visor against Luke’s and grins.   
   
“Nice pass, pretty boy,” he says, just to Luke, as their other three teammates finally reach them and pile onto the group hug.  
   
“Thanks.”  
   
Cam pokes a gloved finger into one of Luke’s dimples and winks at him before he skates away. They all bug him about being young and apparently attractive, but it’s in the spirit of fun and camaraderie so Luke doesn’t mind. Especially not just after they scored one minute into the game.  
   
When he’s back on the bench, and the play has stopped for a commercial break, Luke searches the crowd for his brothers and friends. He knows approximately where they’re sitting, but it’s in the upper bowl and Luke can’t really make out specific people from so far below. He knows they’re up there, though. He knows Cal and Ash, at least, are shirtless and covered in paint. He doesn’t know if his brothers got on board with the plan. Much closer, just a few sections away from where Luke is, he can see his parents. They’re in the seats that were supposed to be Calum and Ashton’s, who insisted that they switch when they found out Luke’s family hadn't been able to get tickets until the last minute and wound up in the 300 section of the arena. Liz turned them down, and Ashton wouldn’t take no for an answer, and they went back and forth like people in a restaurant fighting over who will treat the other to the meal. Finally, Liz relented, when Ashton insisted they should see their son at least once on Olympic ice from seats that were close enough to actually _see_ him, and not have him just be a tiny figure on the ground far below.  
   
Liz waves at him, over-exaggerated and mom-like, and Luke laughs and waves back but much smaller and cooler. Her face is far away but he can still see the pride in her smile. His dad is next to her, looking around like sitting in an Olympic arena is a dream he never realized he had coming true.  
   
“What would your boyfriend think of you trying to pick up some side action in the stands?” Blake asks in a low voice, leaning into Luke to be heard over the music and the noise of the crowd.  
   
“That’s my mom, dude,” Luke tells him.  
   
Blake looks up and waves at her too. Luke wants to thank him, for keeping his secret with Michael, but this isn’t the time and he doesn’t have the right words.  
   
The play starts again and Luke watches, until it's his turn to be back on the ice. Knowing his family is watching, and his friends are here making fools of themselves up in the nosebleeds, and Michael is watching in a hotel room just a few miles away, puts wings on the back of Luke's skates. Three hours later, when the final buzzer sounds, his team has won by four goals, one of which Luke scored off an incredible back-pass from Blake, and it's the best game Luke's played in the whole tournament. And they're moving on, to the quarter finals and the chance to play for an Olympic medal. The smile on Luke's face as he celebrates with his teammates is so wide it hurts his cheeks.  
   
*           *           *  
   
“We are so proud of you,” Liz says, when he meets them after the game. She goes up on her toes to kiss his cheek and hug him, wiping tears away from her eyes with a watery laugh.  
   
“Mom,” Jack complains. “You’d think he was dying.”  
   
“Quiet, he’s my youngest baby and he’s an Olympian, I’m allowed to blubber.”  
   
Jack rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment further, except to say, “You were awesome,” to Luke.  
   
“Thanks for coming,” Luke responds, over the top of Liz’s head. “Really, it means a lot.”  
   
“As if we would miss this.” Ben waves it off. “So, where are you taking us?”  
   
“Up the mountain.” Luke finally gently pushes his mom away so he can start walking, leading them to the chairlift he and Michael went up a week ago. It feels like a lot longer than that. “Michael and I found this spot where you can look out over the town, it’s really pretty. And then, I thought we could check out this restaurant I went to the other night. If everyone’s up for it.”  
   
“Does anyone speak English here?” Andy asks, looking around with concern wrinkling his forehead.  
   
“Yes, Dad,” Luke assures. “Nearly everyone.”  
   
“Hey, wait!” a voice calls, and they all turn.  
   
Ashton is jogging towards them, tugging a sweater over his head. Luke gets just a peek of red and blue stripes on his stomach before the shirt covers it. So they definitely did paint their chests, then. He hopes there were pictures taken. Ashton is pink-cheeked and breathless when he reaches them. “That was a game, huh? Nice goal, kid.” He punches Luke lightly on the shoulder.  
   
“It was a good pass.” Luke shrugs. “I just tapped it in, Blake did all the work.”  
   
“You were amazing. I’ll brag for you if you’re gonna be modest about it,” Ashton insists. “Does anyone mind if I horn in on Hemmings bonding time? The Canadians are having some kind of team meeting and Cal is napping.”  
   
“Of course not!” Liz exclaims. Sometimes Luke swears she likes Ashton and Michael more than she likes her own sons. She links arms with Ashton and marches with him back in the direction they’d been heading like she’s daring anyone to contradict her. No one would, anyway.  
   
Ben bumps his shoulder into Luke’s as they walk. “You were really awesome.”  
   
Luke smiles down at the snow in front of his boots. Ben’s approval means more to him than anyone’s. It always has. Most of Luke’s success in hockey can be traced back to a childhood spent constantly trying to live up to and impress his oldest brother.  
   
“Sucks that Michael can’t come with us,” Ben continues.  
   
“It does.” Luke nods. “But I think it could’ve been a lot worse.”  
   
“Everything good with you two?”  
   
“Yeah. It’s great.”  
   
Luke doesn’t get to spend a lot of time with his family anymore so he enjoys every minute of it. They wander the town, taking in tourist attractions and the hustle and bustle of athletes and spectators. They eat and drink and laugh and catch up. Ashton feels like part of the family, like he did last summer when he came to visit. It would only be better if Michael were there, but Luke doesn’t dwell on that because it can’t be helped, and has fun anyway.  
   
When he gets back to his hotel room, late and just a little bit drunk, there is a piece of paper taped to his door, just underneath the peep hole. Thinking it’s another note from Michael, delivered through Calum, Luke smiles and picks it off the door, careful not to leave bits of tape behind. He goes inside to collapse tiredly onto his bed before he reads it. The room spins a little above him as he unfolds the paper and squints to focus his bleary eyes.  
   
It isn’t from Michael. It isn’t from anyone; it’s unsigned. In blue ink and messy, angry handwriting are the words  _GO HOME PIDOR. Or you will not like what happens._  
   
Luke sits up. The room spins faster. He reads it again. He doesn’t understand, and Luke is sure that isn’t just the alcohol swimming in his veins. It’s a threat, that much he can tell. Acting on instinct and adrenaline, he gets up and turns the deadbolt on the door. Then he turns around and leans against it, sinking down to the floor and staring at the note that shakes in his hands.  _Or you will not like what happens_. Luke doesn’t know what to think, what to do, who to tell. He just sits on the floor and stares at the words, trying to find sense where there is none.  
   
*           *           *


	14. dekatessera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for being patient again blueberries, I had a death in the family but I'm okay now and I'm back :)

Carey holds the note up and squints at it, letting the light from the overhead lamp filter through the paper and turn it semi-transparent.  
   
“Are you looking for invisible ink?” P.K. asks, deadpan and mocking, but friendly. “This isn’t a James Bond movie, dude.”  
   
“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” Carey admits. In his own defense, he adds, “okay, but, someone left an anonymous death threat for Luke on his door so yeah it’s not a James Bond movie but it’s _something_. It’s not a normal thing that happens.”  
   
“I don’t know if it’s quite a death threat …” Luke argues, but even he doesn’t believe his words. He has no way of knowing what it is. The or-else threat is vague enough that it could be anything.  
   
“What does it mean?” P.K. takes the note from Carey’s hands and examines it himself. He sniffs it, like he’s expecting to find gun-powder residue or something, and it’s Carey’s turn to roll his eyes.  
   
“The note? It means someone wants me to go home, I guess.”  
   
“No, this word.” P.K. points to the page, and Luke doesn’t need to see to know which word he’s referring to.  
   
“It’s Russian.” Luke Googled it earlier, and was at least half-expecting to find the results that he found but it didn’t make the churning in his stomach settle. “It means … well. It’s offensive slang. For someone like me. I don’t wanna say what it translates to in English, but you can guess.”  
   
Michael isn’t here, but he wouldn’t like Luke saying that word out loud, even just to report that someone else had said it. Before Luke had figured out about himself, he was guilty of using it in locker rooms and on the ice to an opposing player who did something he took issue with. They all did. It was part of the culture Luke grew up in. It was casual and thoughtless, not meant to be intentionally discriminatory, but Luke feels badly about it now, knowing there may have been a kid like Michael on any of his teams; closeted and struggling and hurt by their careless words.  
   
“So it’s about that,” P.K. surmises, his dark eyes going even darker as annoyance takes over his usually kind features. He exchanges an ignited glance with Carey. They both look furious.  
   
“Are you surprised?” Luke asks.  
   
“Unfortunately I’m not, but a guy can hope. That maybe we’ve made some progress in the last however many years. That it’s 2018 and this shit shouldn’t still be an issue for people.”  
   
“I guess it’s different in Russia.”  
   
“There’s probably just shitty people everywhere, no matter where you go.”  
   
Carey’s brown eyes find Luke’s, and now they look sad. “What are you going to do?”  
   
“I don’t know.” Luke sighs and sits down on his bed. “That’s what you’re supposed to be helping me with.”  
   
“Why us? Not that we don’t want to help, but are you planning on telling Clifford? Or your family, or maybe the police?”  
   
Luke shakes his head. He thought, for hours, about how best to handle this, and he can’t tell Michael. At least not yet. Not until he has more information. “I can’t. Michael and Calum would be so mad. My mom would freak out. And Ashton wouldn’t let me out of his sight for the rest of the Games.”  
   
“Which would be a bad thing because?” P.K. raises an eyebrow.  
   
“Because I don’t even know what this is yet. Maybe it’s a joke, or a prank. Maybe one of the guys on my team thought it would be funny.”  
   
“If this is someone’s idea of a joke …” Carey begins, but doesn’t finish the thought out loud.  
   
“Even if it is, how are you going to figure that out if you don’t tell anyone?” P.K. reasons. “I don’t know what we can do to help, man.”  
   
“It had to be an athlete.” Carey is looking off into the distance in front of his own face and doesn’t seem to be addressing anyone in particular, just thinking out loud. “Right? Because only athletes have access to this building. We have to show I.D. and stuff when we come and go.”  
   
“Unless someone was let in by someone else,” Luke points out, “like we did with Cal and Ash. We probably weren’t supposed to do that but no one told us not to. They sat with us in the lobby and no one questioned it.”  
   
“Okay, true, but an athlete still has to be involved, either way. Because no one else could get in here on their own.”  
   
“That really doesn’t narrow it down.” P.K. frowns. “There are thousands of athletes.”  
   
“I guess it narrows it down to the Russian athletes,” Carey points out.  
   
P.K. rubs his palm over his forehead. “That’s still a lot. There are 30 on the hockey team alone. I have no idea how many there are in total, I didn’t really notice during the Opening Ceremonies. Although maybe someone on the hockey team isn’t a bad suspect, since they didn’t make the quarter finals. Maybe they’re pissed about that, and taking it out on you.”  
   
“The handwriting looks male,” Carey says, looking at the note again. “I think, anyway. I guess it’s hard to know for sure.”  
   
Luke blows out a breath and tips himself backwards onto the bed, bouncing a few times before he settles. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits. His voice comes out so small. He’d like the emotional support that telling Michael would give him, but he’s afraid of what Michael might do. Michael and Calum are both like that – mild-mannered until someone they love is being mistreated. That’s when they grow claws. And Michael overreacting and doing something stupid as a result wouldn’t help anything.  
   
“I wish I knew what to tell you,” P.K’s voice says, and it sounds like he means that.  
   
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”  
   
“I guess for right now, don’t do anything.” Carey sits next to Luke’s hip on the bed. His weight makes the mattress dip, and Luke’s body tilts toward him. “Just watch your back. Maybe nothing will even happen, maybe someone just thought it would be fun to freak you out but they aren’t planning to do anything else.”  
   
Luke nods. It feels naive to hope that’s the case, but he isn’t sure what else to do.  
   
*           *           *  
   
A team meeting and a practice means Luke doesn’t end up having much time to dwell on his problems for the rest of the afternoon, and he’s grateful for that. He flies around the practice ice, running skating drills with his teammates, and it’s the perfect distraction. Somehow, for Luke’s whole life, anything he’s dealing with always seems to fade away as soon as he’s on the ice. With skates on his feet and a stick in his hand, no matter what else is going on, Luke always knows what to do. It’s where he belongs.  
   
“I’m coming back to our room, if that’s okay,” Blake tells him, in the locker room once they’re done. The practice was long, and they’re all sweaty and exhausted.  
   
Luke pushes the damp hair out of his eyes and looks up. “Yeah, of course it is. Everything okay with your family?”  
   
Blake smiles. “Yes, they’re great. It’s just not that easy to get a good night’s sleep with two little kids crawling all over you. And we’ve got an important game coming up.”  
   
“Ah.” Luke laughs a little. “Makes sense.”  
   
They play a semi-final against Sweden in two days, and if they win that game they advance to the final at the end of the week and the chance to play for Olympic Gold. Luke can’t get his head around everything, it’s all been such a whirlwind. It feels like they just got here, and soon he might have a medal placed around his neck while the American national anthem plays in the background. In his world, winning the Stanley Cup is more important than an Olympic medal but on a global scale this feels so much bigger. It feels like the world is watching, not just North American hockey fans.  
   
He showers and meets Blake outside the arena, bags slung over their shoulders, and they walk together back to the hotel. Luke glances around himself as they do, paranoid that he’s being followed or watched. There are so many people around, as always, so it would be impossible to pick someone sinister out of the throng even if Luke had any idea what this person looked like – which, of course, he doesn’t. He should be comforted by all the security guards milling about through the crowd, but someone managed to get up to Luke’s room and the extra security measures didn’t prevent that from happening, so all the men and women in blue uniforms don’t make Luke feel any safer.  
   
“What are you looking for?” Blake asks.  
   
“Nothing.” Luke tries to forget it and just walk normally, but then he hears someone yell something behind him that sounds like his own name, and he turns automatically to the noise. But there’s nothing. Just people. Tourists wandering around, organizers with clipboards, journalists with T.V. cameras, athletes hurrying to their own events. Luke can’t see anything suspicious at all, so he must have imagined his name being called. His head must be playing tricks on him.  
   
“Seriously, what?” Blake turns as well, and squints into the crowd. “Is someone following us or something?”  
   
“No, I don’t – no,” Luke answers. “Let’s just go.”  
   
He keeps walking, and Blake jogs to catch up to him. “Can you please tell me? You’re freaking me out.”  
   
Luke sighs, and is annoyed with himself for giving it away so easily. He hadn’t intended to tell anyone else, but he can’t pretend now that nothing happened. It wouldn’t be fair to his roommate, he realizes, especially since the person knows where they’re sleeping. “It’s not. I don’t know what it is. You have to swear you won’t tell anyone, though, okay?”  
   
Blake frowns. “Okay.”  
   
“I mean it.”  
   
“I said okay.”  
   
“I got this note. Someone left it on the door to our room.”  
   
“And?”  
   
“I don’t know what it means. It just said that I should go home. Or I wouldn’t like what happens.” Luke leaves out the slur, because he doesn’t like thinking about how threatened he feels by that word. If it had been the English equivalent, Luke doesn’t think it would have been so scary.  
   
“What the fuck?”  
   
“I really don’t know.” Luke shakes his head, and then drops the issue for a moment as they enter the building, show their I.D. badges to be let in past the front doors, and make their way to the elevator. Once the doors close behind them and the lift starts to climb up to their floor, Luke continues, “It could be a joke. I don’t know what to think.”  
   
“That’s a pretty sick joke, if it is one. What are you going to do?”  
   
“Nothing, for now.”  
   
The elevator doors open and Luke’s heart skips a beat, half-expecting a masked intruder with a knife to be waiting for him as soon as they do. But the hallway is empty, and Luke can see the door to their room at the end of it and there isn’t anything out of the ordinary about it.  
   
“Don’t you think you should tell someone?” Blake pushes.  
   
“What if …” Luke begins, as he unlocks and opens their door, but then he’s cut off as a cold blast of air hits his face. He blinks and stares into the room.  
   
Blake pushes authoritatively past Luke and into the room. The window has been smashed; there’s glass everywhere and the curtains billowing in the frozen breeze. There’s a large rock in the middle of the floor, with a piece of paper attached to it by a rubber band. Blake turns back to look at Luke with wide eyes. Luke goes to step further into the room, but Blake holds up a hand and barks, “ _wait_.”  
   
He checks the bathroom, behind the door and behind the shower curtain, and underneath the beds, before he lets Luke come into the room and close the door behind him.  
   
“He’s not in here,” Luke mumbles. He knew that before Blake checked, but he let his roommate look around anyway. “How could he have thrown a rock through the window from inside?”  
   
“How did he throw a fucking rock through the window _at_ _all_?” Blake demands. “We’re on the seventh floor! What, did he rent a helicopter?”  
   
“Maybe he’s a shot putter,” Luke jokes weakly.  
   
“It’s the Winter Games. There’s no track and field athletes here.” Blake leans down to pick up the rock, and rips the note off it. He unfolds it, his lips pressed together so hard they’ve gone white. “It just says _go home_.”  
   
“Same as last time.” Luke sits on his bed and rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Fuck, I’m sorry, man. You didn’t need to be involved in this.”  
   
“Are you kidding?” Blake says loudly. “Shut the fuck up, this isn’t your fault! But _tell_ me you’re gonna report this now. I mean, you at least have to tell the hotel staff, we can’t stay in this room tonight with the window busted. We’ll freeze to death.”  
   
“What if they won’t help?” Luke asks, finally voicing what’s been worrying him.  
   
“Who?”  
   
“Anyone. The officials, the police.” Luke sighs. “The first note … he called me a word in Russian that means fag. That’s why this is happening, it’s … so what if the people I go report this to feel the same way? I don’t know how it works here, it’s not like Canada. What if they won’t help?”  
   
“So go to the Olympic committee. They would help.”  
   
“They’re already pissed at me because of what Michael did to that Swiss player that hit me. What if they decide me being here is more trouble than it’s worth and they send me home?”  
   
Blake’s jaw is clenched and he looks so angry, but not at Luke. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know if you’re right about that, I … I just don’t know.”  
   
“There’s less than a week left. We only have two games to go. Can we just get through this? I’ll tell the hotel staff the window was an accident, they can just move us to a different room. That will be safer anyway, because the guy who’s doing this won’t know where we’ve been moved.”  
   
“He found you once,” Blake points out. “Besides, the broken glass is inside, like you said before. You can’t tell them that you tripped and accidentally threw the hair dryer through the window. They’ll know it came from outside.”  
   
“So we’ll show them the rock, but not the note,” Luke pleads. He can’t explain it; he just has a feeling telling the whole story would make everything worse. “They’ll think it was some kind of a prank or a drunk fan or vandalism or something. They’ll just move us.”  
   
Blake looks at the rock in his hand and exhales. “Yeah. Alright. I don’t like it, but alright.”  
   
*           *           *


	15. dekapente

When Luke and Blake make their way to practice the next morning, ready to begin preparing with the team for their semi-final game the following day, Luke’s cubby in the locker room is missing his skates. He frowns, positive he left them with the trainers the day before to be sharpened, and they’ve always been here waiting for him, every day he’s been in Korea so far. He finds a trainer and asks, and the man gives him a quizzical look and says he’d left them in Luke’s cubby the night before, knowing they’d be the first team using the practice space today. Luke goes back and looks again, entertaining the possibly he’s just tired this morning and they’d been right there staring him in the face and he didn’t see them. He looks over his space, and then the spaces on either side, and then around the entire room after everyone else has cleared out and taken to the ice. His skates aren’t anywhere.  
   
Luke doesn’t let himself jump to conclusions. He borrows a pair of skates from Cam, putting on two pairs of socks because Cam’s feet are a size bigger than his own, and joins his teammates on the ice. They just scrimmage today. They’re all professional players; there’s nothing to learn at this point. A friendly, no contact game loosens them up and has them laughing and feeling like brothers – like they’ve known each other for years. It’s been a whirlwind tournament and there hasn’t been time for Luke to get to know too many of these guys particularly well, but he’s going to miss Blake and Cam and he’ll look forward to seeing the rest of them on the ice in the future. They’ll be in different colored jerseys so it won’t be quite the same, but friendly faces on the opposing team are always nice.  
   
A few hours later, back at the hotel, Luke opens the door to his room to find a folded piece of paper lying on the floor. It must have been slipped under the door. He manages to step on it before Blake sees it, and pick it up inconspicuously as his roommate’s back is turned. Luke lies about wanting a shower, and in the bathroom with the sink faucet running, he unfolds the paper. _Your family is nice_ , it says, in the same messy scrawl. _Someone should protect them from you._  
   
Luke’s blood runs cold. He’s sure his heart stops for a few beats longer than is safe. He gropes his pockets for his phone, and curses under his breath as he realizes it’s outside the bathroom, in his bag. He takes a few deep breaths to compose himself, and goes to retrieve it. He manage to pull the device out of an outside pocket in his bag without arousing suspicion, but when he taps on the phone symbol, nothing happens. He tries again, and still nothing. He taps a few other app logos and none of them work.  
   
“What the fuck …” he mutters under his breath. Blake looks up. Luke is just about to shut his phone down, to restart it and hope that solves the problem, when it turns off on its own and won’t turn back on again no matter how many times he presses the button.  
   
“What’s wrong?” Blake asks.  
   
“I don’t … my phone is being weird,” Luke says, trying to keep his voice level. Trying again not to jump to conclusions, because leaving notes is one thing, but hacking remotely into someone’s iPhone isn’t something the average person knows how to do. Luke is probably being ridiculous, thinking this is part of the whole thing. It’s probably an unfortunate coincidence. “Maybe I got it wet at the rink and didn’t realize it.”  
   
“What’s that?” Blake points, and Luke looks down at his hand, and remembers the note is still clenched in it.  
   
“Nothing.” Luke shoves it into his pocket.  
   
Blake stares at him. “Show me.”  
   
“It’s not from him,” Luke lies. He knows even before the words are finished leaving his mouth that Blake isn’t going to believe it.  
   
“Bullshit. Your blades go missing from what’s supposed to be a locked facility, and that’s another note, and now your phone is crashing for no reason?”  
   
“I – maybe.” Luke swallows. His throat is so tight. “It might not be related.”  
   
“What does the note say?” Blake demands.  
   
Luke blinks against the burning behind his eyes. “My family …”  
   
“He’s threatening your _family_? Luke!” Blake cries.  
   
“What do I do?” Luke asks helplessly. He needs to stop asking his friends that question. It isn’t fair for him to make his problem theirs to deal with.  
   
“You go to the damn police! Your family isn’t protected like you are! There aren’t security guards and ID badges at the door to their hotel! If this asshole wants to get at them, he probably can!”  
   
Luke nods shortly. The thought had crossed his mind, but once Blake says it, it suddenly becomes very real.  
   
He leaves without another word. His family is staying nearby, but not close enough that Luke isn’t frozen to the bone by the time he gets there. It’s a long walk and it’s blisteringly cold out. Luke’s skin is crawling with paranoia. Every person he passes, Luke looks at as if they’re the one after him. With his cheeks stinging and his nose running, Luke bounces on his heels in the elevator, and all but runs down the hall once the door opens on the 10th floor. He knocks, far too loudly, on the room his parents and brothers are staying in. When no one answers, he bangs on the door again, and again, until someone in the room across the hall yanks their own door open and yells at him to cut it out.  
   
Luke mumbles a half-assed apology and heads back for the elevator. He rams his finger into the button, and when it takes too long, he gives up and takes the stairs. He jogs down them, two at a time, and when he reaches the lobby he makes a mad dash for the front desk.  
   
“Are you okay?” a girl asks him. Her English is better than most people Luke’s encountered here, and he’s lucky for it, because he’s upset and winded and he doesn’t have the time to have to explain himself more than once.  
   
“The family staying in room 1018. There’s four of them, all blond, the two younger guys look like me. Do you know where they are?”  
   
She hesitates. “I don’t … we aren’t supposed to release information to – ”  
   
“I’m their son. And their brother, they’re my family. I’m an athlete, look.” Luke pulls his ID badge from around his neck and shows it to her. “Please, I think they might be in danger.”  
   
“I booked them a tour this morning,” the girl says. Her black eyebrows stich together, and her expression is uncomfortable. “A bus tour. It was going to different places, I don’t know where they would be right now …”  
   
“But they were okay? Nothing happened to them?”  
   
“I – no, when they left, they were okay.” She blinks, and glances around, and then leans in and speaks to him softly. “Do you need help?”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “Can I use your phone? My cell isn’t working.”  
   
“Of course.” She lifts a sleek cordless off the desk and hands it to him.  
   
Luke dials his mom’s number, and isn’t surprised when he gets her voicemail. He should have thought to borrow Blake’s phone before he left and text Ben or Jack – he’d have a better chance of getting through to one of them, but he can’t remember their numbers off the top of his head, and he can’t check the contacts on his phone.  
   
“Mom, it’s Luke,” he says quietly, after the beep indicates the message is being recorded. “I – I can’t explain right now, but when you get back, just go straight up to your room, okay? Don’t talk to anyone, lock the door. I’ll tell you when I can. Love you.”  
   
He hands the phone back to the girl behind the desk and thanks her, and then he heads back outside and starts jogging in the only direction that makes any sense to him anymore – towards Michael. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and Luke is in so much danger of being caught, but he isn’t thinking straight and maybe all this is more important than some silly ban the IOC used to punish Michael for standing up for the person he loves. Luke hovers outside Michael’s hotel room for a few moments, debating how he’s going to get inside when he’ll have to show his ID and they’ll know he isn’t staying in this building, and then he gets lucky when a huge group of athletes returns all at once. The guard at the door is checking badges but there are enough people that Luke manages to sneak past them in the fray. He hurries up to Michael’s room with his head down, in case he’s recognized in the hallway. As he knocks on Michael’s door, it occurs to him how small the chance is that Michael is even here. Luke doesn’t know his schedule.  
   
Then the door opens, and relief washes over Luke. It’s so strong that he wants to collapse into Michael’s arms the second he sees faded blue hair and green eyes.  
   
“Luke?” Michael asks, confused for just a moment, and then he grabs Luke by the sleeve and pulls him roughly inside. “Are you kidding me? After all the crap you gave me about sneaking over to see you that one time and you just show up here? Did anyone see you on the way in?”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “Michael.”  
   
“What?” Michael really looks at him then, and his face falls. “Fuck, babe, what?”  
   
Luke’s eyes close and all he can do is shake his head again.  
   
Michael repeats the swear, and then he’s in Luke’s space, holding his cheeks and then wrapping his arms around Luke’s neck, pulling him into a hug. “What happened?”  
   
With trembling hands, Luke reaches into his pocket and pulls out the note. He hands it to Michael, who reads it with a furrowed brow.  
   
“What is this?”  
   
“It’s the third one. The second one was attached to a rock.”  
   
“The third one of _what_? You’re not making sense.”  
   
“It’s …” Luke takes a deep breath, and tries again. “I’ve been getting notes. The first one called me a word that means … a rude thing to call a gay guy. In Russian. And then the second one came through our hotel window, with a rock.”  
   
“You’re on the seventh floor.”  
   
“I know. I don’t know how, but it was there when we got back.”  
   
“Someone is threatening you?” Michael looks like he’s trying to get his brain around it. It’s been days and Luke still hasn’t managed that.  
   
He nods. “And my skates went missing. And my phone stopped working. I don’t know if it’s related. I don’t know.”  
   
“When did all this happen?”  
   
“This one was today. The first one was on Monday.”  
   
Michael’s eyes widen. “ _Monday_? Someone sent you a threatening note _days_ ago and you’re just telling me _now_?”  
   
“I didn’t want to scare you.”  
   
“Well I’m fuckin’ scared anyway!” Michael yells. “So all you did was piss me off!”  
   
“I’m sorry,” Luke whispers. “I didn’t know what it was at first, I didn’t … I still don’t. I don’t …”  
   
He trails off, lost for words, and Michael’s face falls and then he’s in Luke’s arms again.  
   
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, wiping away tears Luke hadn’t realized were on his cheeks. “I’m sorry, it’s not your fault.”  
   
“I thought maybe it was a bad joke. I hoped it was,” Luke admits. He clings to Michael. He’s needed this embrace for three days, and he didn’t know how much until just now. “Then he mentioned my family. Now I’m freaked out.”  
   
“Where are they?”  
   
“On some kind of bus tour, I talked to a girl at their hotel. I left a message with my mom to lock themselves in their room as soon as they get back. I wanted to text my brothers but my phone won’t work. I think maybe the guy hacked into it somehow. I have no idea how he managed to steal my skates.” Luke is babbling and he knows it makes no sense, but the words he’s been holding inside come tumbling out of his mouth and he can’t stop it. “I don’t know what to do.”  
   
“We go to the cops, that’s what.”  
   
“What if they don’t speak English? What if they won’t help? Shouldn’t we tell someone here? Some Olympic person?”  
   
Michael shakes his head. “We will if we have to, but they’re just gonna give us shit about being together when they told us not to, and that’s a waste of time right now. Police first. C’mon.”  
   
He takes Luke’s hand and leads him out the door, and Luke is so grateful to have someone else take charge and to just follow along and for just a moment, feel like maybe it’s all going to be okay.  
   
*           *           *


	16. dekaeksi

The police station is cold and sterile. Everything is white and brightly lit, just like the airport, but while that felt futuristic and grand, the station feels like a hospital waiting room. Luke and Michael sit, on plastic chairs next to the intake desk, and wait while the officer they spoke to tracks down one that speaks better English. Luke feels like such an ignorant tourist – that everywhere he goes since he’s been here, he’s just expected people to speak his native language instead of trying to learn theirs. Although, for two weeks in a foreign country, Luke supposes it wouldn’t have been a good use of his time to learn to speak Korean. It doesn’t stop him from feeling privileged and annoying.  
   
Michael wants to hold his hand. Luke can tell by the way his fingers keep twitching against their touching thighs. Luke wants to hold Michael’s hand, too, but he doesn’t. Michael doesn’t speak, so Luke doesn’t either. It’s too quiet in the room. There’s a clock on the wall and Luke can hear it ticking, and it’s such a small sound but it echoes in the empty space.  
   
With a burst of chilly air, the doors next to them swing open, and just because his eyes always go to movement, Luke looks up. He isn’t expecting to see Calum and Ashton bursting into the station, wind-swept hair and unzipped coats and pink cheeks from the cold February air.  
   
He frowns. “What …” he begins, but then he doesn’t finish, because he knows the answer already.  
   
“Has someone seen you yet?” Ashton asks, sitting down next to Luke.  
   
“You told them,” Luke states. He’s looking down at his own knees but addressing Michael.  
   
“You didn’t tell me not to,” Michael says, wincing.  
   
“Don’t blame Michael. He just did what you _should_ have done days ago,” Calum adds. He’s glaring, sort of at all of them. Angry because he’s worried. Luke knows this dance. “What the fuck, Hemmings, how could you keep this from us?”  
   
“I’m back to Hemmings, now,” Luke muses sarcastically. “Why do I get demoted every time I do something you don’t agree with?”  
   
“Answer the question,” Calum snaps. “We’re your fucking best friends. What were you thinking?”  
   
“Because it didn’t concern you!” Luke tells him, losing his temper because _he’s_ the one being threatened and he doesn’t feel like he deserves Calum’s bad mood. “You’re not the boss of everyone just because you’re good at punching people, _Hood_.”  
   
“Stop,” Ashton pleads.  
   
“You – ” Calum begins angrily, but Ashton cuts him off.  
   
“ _Stop_ ,” Ashton repeats. “C’mon, guys, don’t do this. We’re all freaked out, you’re not really mad at each other. Don’t make it worse.”  
   
Calum’s jaw sets, but he sighs and takes a few steps away, and in Calum-ese that means he knows Ashton is right.  
   
“Are you okay?” Ashton asks. He curls his fingers over Luke’s shoulder and squeezes.  
   
Luke nods shortly. “I’m fine, I just … don’t know what to do.”  
   
“It’s good that you’re here. They’ll help.” Ashton gestures with one hand around the police station.  
   
Luke nods again. He isn’t confident that they will, but he doesn’t know where else to turn.  
   
“Hello,” someone says from across the room.  
   
Luke looks up. There’s an officer standing near them. He looks serious.  
   
“Who is Mr. Hemmings?”  
   
He mispronounces Luke’s name, but Luke doesn’t bother correcting him. “I am.”  
   
“Come with me.”  
   
Luke gets up and follows the officer, and Michael follows them both. As they enter a room near the back of the building, the officer gives Michael a funny look.  
   
“You are his friend?”  
   
“Sure,” Michael says, with a shrug that means he doesn’t have the energy to argue.  
   
“Sit.” The officer holds out his hand and gestures toward two chairs, on the other side of his desk.  
   
They’re hard and plastic and uncomfortable, like the ones in the waiting area where Calum and Ashton still are. Luke sits in one and Michael in the other. Michael’s leg is bouncing, like it does when he’s anxious or impatient, and Luke wants to reach over and squeeze his thigh but he doesn’t.  
   
“I am Lee,” the man says, pointing to a name-tag on his chest that’s written in Korean characters. He doesn’t know if that’s the man’s first or last name, either. He doesn’t ask. “You are athletes? From the Olympics?”  
   
Luke nods. “Hockey players.”  
   
“Someone hurt you?”  
   
“Not exactly.” Luke shakes his head. “Someone is … I don’t know what to call it. Maybe, stalking?”  
   
Lee frowns, and Luke can tell the expression doesn’t translate.  
   
“Um.” Luke bites his lip and tries to think of how else to describe it. “Okay, someone left me notes, in my hotel room. Threats. Telling me to go home, or he’ll hurt my family.”  
   
“You know who it is?” Lee asks.  
   
“No. But in one of the notes there was a word in Russian.”  
   
“Do you have it?” Lee holds his hand out again, expecting Luke to hand it to him.  
   
Luke should have saved them. It never occurred to him – he feels so stupid, now, that it didn’t. “I threw them out. I’m sorry, I … I didn’t think.”  
   
“Why does he want you to leave?” Lee looks at Michael again, and then back at Luke. “If you do not know him.”  
   
“I …” Luke hesitates, and glances sideways at Michael, and decides he doesn’t have a choice. “Because we’re together.”  
   
Lee’s frown just deepens – he doesn’t understand.  
   
Luke takes Michael’s hand and holds it up. “Me and him. Together, like, a couple.”  
   
“Homosexual,” Lee surmises. The word sounds like it tastes bitter in his mouth.  
   
“Yes.” Luke swallows, and instantly knows this was a mistake.  
   
“You do not have the notes. How can we find him? There are many Russians here.”  
   
Closing his eyes briefly, Luke says, “I know. I just … I thought there might be something you could do.”  
   
With an expression on his face like he would really rather not, Lee picks up the phone on his desk. “I will call your hotel, ask for more security. You will be safe. The Olympics is over soon, then you can go home and he will go back to Russia.”  
   
“There already _is_ security at the hotel,” Michael points out. “He got past them. How is adding one more guard going to help anything?”  
   
Ignoring them, Lee speaks in Korean into the phone for a minute or two, and then hangs up and looks at them. “If you get another note, bring it. Then maybe we can help.”  
   
“That’s not …” Michael begins angrily, but he trails off when Lee holds his hand up again, gesturing to the door this time.  
   
“Bring the note,” he repeats, and clearly their meeting is over.  
   
“C’mon,” Luke mumbles, standing up, and leading Michael out with the hand he’s still holding.  
   
“I should’ve expected that,” Michael says, as they walk back down the hall. He sounds furious. Luke can’t look at him.  
   
“I did expect it,” Luke sighs. “But that doesn’t make it suck any less.”  
   
His phone vibrates in his pocket, and remembering the messages he left for his family, Luke scrambles for it. “Mom. Are you okay, are you guys safe?”  
   
“What’s going on?” Liz asks. She sounds frantic.  
   
“Are you safe?” Luke demands.  
   
“Yes, we’re fine, we’re in the room, like you said. What’s going on, are you alright?”  
   
“I’m at a police station.”  
   
“What?” she cries.  
   
“I’m okay,” Luke assures. “I don’t wanna explain over the phone, I’ll come to you. Stay where you are.”  
   
“Luke,” Liz pleads. “What’s happening, are we in danger? Are _you_?”  
   
“No,” Luke lies. In truth, he doesn’t know. “I’ll be there soon.”  
   
She keeps talking but he hangs up on her.  
   
Calum and Ashton jump up as Luke walks past them, but he keeps going until he’s outside in the snow. Footsteps follow behind him. Luke can’t think about anything but getting to his family. He keeps walking even as they call his name. Finally, a hand on his shoulder pulls him around to face the other three, pink cheeked again and breathing hard from jogging to catch up to him. The hand was Ashton’s. Calum and Michael are behind him, both with dark, stormy expressions on their faces.  
   
“What happened?” Ashton asks. His brow is furrowed and his mouth turned down.  
   
“They won’t help,” Luke summarizes. He doesn’t offer anything further, and tries to keep walking, but Ashton stops him again.  
   
“ _Hey_. Stop it, talk to us.”  
   
“There’s nothing to say,” Luke grinds out. “The guy said he’d request another security guard at my hotel, that’s it. But that won’t do anything. I knew they wouldn’t help. Michael said we should tell the cops before we tried the Olympic people but I fucking _knew_ they wouldn’t help.”  
   
“I thought … I didn’t know,” Michael protests.  
   
“Dude, that isn’t Michael’s fault!” Calum cries, instantly protective.  
   
“Yeah, I know that, Calum!” Luke yells. His face is so hot, and not just from the cold. It’s like the weight of everything that’s happened is stuck in his brain, and he can’t get it out. There’s pressure beneath his skull, like it’s about to explode.  
   
“So then don’t blame him!”  
   
“Cal,” Michael mutters. When Calum keeps glaring at Luke, Michael grabs his arm and makes him turn. They share a look, and then the tension goes out of Calum’s muscular frame.  
   
“I’m …” He comes over and puts his hands on Luke’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.”  
   
Luke sighs and shakes his head. “It’s okay.”  
   
His phone buzzes again, and Luke’s heart leaps into his throat. The caller ID says ‘John’, and it takes Luke a moment to figure out who it is. Then he remembers it’s their coach – that he and Blake had entered his contact information into their phones under his first name as a joke.  
   
“Hello?” he answers.  
   
“Luke?”  
   
“Yeah, Coach, what’s up?”  
   
There’s a pause, and his voice is low and serious when he says, “I just got a call about you. I don’t … know what to think.”  
   
Luke frowns. His face must be giving away his confusion, because all three of his friends look confused and concerned right back at him. “What?”  
   
“The Olympic Committee apparently received an anonymous tip that you’ve been on some kind of drug. Something banned. They didn’t say what.”  
   
For a moment, Luke hears the words but his brain doesn’t know what to do with them. He understands them all individually, but strung together in that order, it doesn’t make any sense. “I – _what_?”  
   
“Is there any truth to this? They’re going to run a drug test anyway, so if it’s true you might as well come clean about it now.”  
   
“They – no!” Luke cries. “No, what the fuck?!”  
   
“They take these things seriously, even if they’re anonymous. They’ll need to test you again before they let you play.”  
   
“The semi-final is tomorrow!”  
   
“I’ll see what I can do. Hopefully they can get you tested and cleared before the game.”  
   
“What if they can’t?”  
   
“Then they won’t let you play. I’m sorry, son, that’s how it works.”  
   
“But this is ridiculous! I’ve been training to be a professional hockey player since I was a kid! I barely drink, I’ve never even smoked a cigarette! And they test us all the time in Montreal, I’ve passed every single test they’ve ever given me!”  
   
“I’m sorry, these are the rules. I’ll see what I can do, alright? I’ll let you know.”  
   
Luke hangs up, and blinks furiously to keep back the tears that are burning behind his eyelids, and wishes he’d never gotten out of bed this morning.  
   
“What?” Michael asks. He gets up in Luke’s space, holding his cold cheeks and stroking his thumb underneath Luke’s eye, where one tear betrays him and slips over his frozen eyelashes. “Babe. What was that, what’s going on?”  
   
“He … the guy.” Luke sniffs and closes his eyes. “I think he called someone and told them I’m on some kind of performance-enhancing … something. I don’t know what. Some controlled substance.”  
   
“What the fuck,” Ashton mutters.  
   
“Unless it was someone else, but … I don’t know who else would do that.”  
   
“They just believed him?” Calum sounds outraged. “Without any proof.”  
   
“The test is the proof,” Ashton says. “They don’t need evidence first to make him pee in a cup.”  
   
“But I didn’t …” Luke lets the sentence die on the lump in his throat.  
   
“We know you didn’t.” Ashton’s hand finds Luke’s shoulder and rubs. “So the test will come back negative. This asshole is just fucking with you.”  
   
Luke opens his eyes and looks into Michael’s.  
   
“M’sorry,” Michael says softly. “I thought the cops would help.”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “Don’t. You didn’t know. Neither did I. It was worth a try.”  
   
“What now?” Calum asks.  
   
Luke closes his eyes again and doesn’t answer, because he has no answer. Michael’s arms go around him, and then so do Ashton’s, and then Calum’s. Huddled in the middle of his three best friends, in the snow, Luke should feel better. He should feel comforted and protected. Instead he feels worse, because he can feel how much they love him, absorbing into his skin, and Luke hates worrying them. He hates that Ashton is scared, and Calum is angry, and Michael is helpless. The frozen ground is soaking through his shoes and the wind cuts through his jacket. He’s cold and out of ideas and he just wants someone to wave a magic wand and erase the entire thing, and no one can.  
   
*           *           *


	17. dekaefta

“You have to tell someone,” Jack says. “Luke, you have to. If the police won’t help then you don’t have a choice, you have to report this.”  
   
“What about your coach?” Ben asks. “He believes you, right? That you aren’t on drugs?”  
   
Luke shrugs one shoulder listlessly. “I don’t know.”  
   
A small sob from the corner draws Luke’s attention to his mom, standing with her hands over her mouth and tears in her eyes.  
   
“If this person is threatening to hurt you, you have to report it,” Jack repeats.  
   
“Mom,” Luke says, softly. He holds out a hand, even though she’s too far away to take it.  
   
She walks over and sits next to him on the bed, pulling him into a hug that feels like home. “Baby,” she whispers.  
   
“It’s okay,” Luke promises. He hates worrying her. “Nothing’s happened yet, it’s all just a lot of talk.”  
   
“Where have you been during all of this?” Luke’s dad asks. The question is directed angrily at Michael, and then he turns to Ashton. “Or you!”  
   
“Dad, don’t,” Luke begs. Michael feels bad enough already, it doesn’t need to be made any worse. “They didn’t know, I didn’t tell them until today.”  
   
“Why on earth not?”  
   
“Because I didn’t know what this was, I didn’t want to freak them out when there wasn’t anything they could do about it anyway.”  
   
“What if he’d gone further than threats?”  
   
Luke looks up at his father, and he’s never seen him look so scared.  
   
“Dad,” Jack says, putting a hand on Andy’s elbow that is quickly shaken off.  
   
“Were we supposed to just find you dead in a hotel room? When you could have done something to protect yourself and you never did?”  
   
“We went to the cops and they won’t help!” Luke protests weakly. “What am I supposed to do?”  
   
“Dad,” Jack says again. “C’mon, that isn’t helping.”  
   
“When you go in for that drug test tomorrow, you _tell_ someone what’s been going on,” Andy insists. “Please, Luke. We need you to be safe.”  
   
Luke nods. He isn’t sure yet, whether or not he’ll do what he just silently promised. He just doesn’t feel like arguing anymore.  
   
“I’ll make sure he does,” Ashton says.  
   
“Me too,” Calum echoes. “We’ll go with him, tomorrow. Since Michael can’t.”  
   
“I’m sorry.” Michael clears his throat. “I’m the one who got us banned from seeing each other. I could go with him if I hadn’t been so stupid.”  
   
“You were standing up for Luke,” Jack tells him. “And the rest of your team. We were watching that game, that Swiss guy was dirty as hell. He had it coming. And it’s bullshit, the way the IOC responded. No one blames you, Michael.”  
   
Luke catches Jack’s eye and smiles at him. They don’t see each other nearly as much anymore as Luke would like, but it’s comforting to know that some things don’t change even while others do. Jack is still his greatest ally.  
   
“Wait, the Swiss player. What if it’s him?” Andy asks.  
   
“Luke said the first note had a Russian word in it,” Calum says.  
   
“But that could be a decoy.”  
   
Ashton shakes his head. “It’s possible I guess, but if that guy was looking for revenge, wouldn’t he go after Michael? Michael’s the one who hit him, Luke didn’t do anything.”  
   
Liz sniffles, and Luke hugs her tighter. “Mom, it’s alright.”  
   
“It isn’t,” she argues, teary and quiet. “You’re my baby, my youngest. You’ve always been the sweetest, kindest … since the day you were born, you’ve never done anything to hurt anyone. You just love a boy instead of a girl and this is how the world treats you for it? It isn’t fair.”  
   
Luke swallows, and it hurts in his tight throat. “It’s just how it is.”  
   
“Well it shouldn’t be.”  
   
“She’s right.” Ben sits on the opposite bed and leans over to hold his face in his hands. “It isn’t fucking fair at all.”  
   
“Just stay in the room tonight, okay?” Luke tells his family. “I’ll call you tomorrow as soon as I know anything.”  
   
“Do you really think we’re in danger?”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “Not really, no. Now that I’ve had a minute to think about it. I think he’s just playing with me, trying to freak me out.”  
   
“It’s working,” Ashton says darkly.  
   
“Promise me you’ll stay here,” Luke repeats.  
   
His mother’s head nods against his shoulder. “We will. What about you? You can’t go back to your room, he knows where it is.”  
   
Luke pauses. He hadn’t considered that – it’s all been happening so fast that he hasn’t thought through any of it.  
   
“He’ll stay in our room,” Calum decides. “With Michael. There isn’t security in our building, no one will stop you.”  
   
“Michael can let us into his room, and then we’ll sleep there,” Ashton adds.  
   
It’s on the tip of Luke’s tongue to point out all the things that could go wrong with this plan, but he doesn’t bother. If it falls apart, they’ll deal with it then. He just nods and hugs his mom, and tries to smile bravely at his brothers, and hide from all of them how scared he really is.  
   
*           *           *  
   
He’s alone in Calum and Ashton’s hotel room for maybe 30 minutes, before Michael comes back. Luke just sits, in a chair by the window, and stares out into the sea of lights, on the dark blue backdrop of almost-night sky. Luke doesn’t like any more that everything inside these rooms is white and pristine. When he first arrived, it felt modern and stylish. Now it feels impersonal. He misses home, he misses their cat and their messy apartment with Michael’s photographs of Green Day on the wall and Michael’s flannels draped over the backs of the kitchen chairs because he’s too lazy to put them away. He misses Calum’s worn leather couches, and listening to Ashton nag him to clean their shower stall. Every time he swallows, it feels like there’s something caught in his throat. His skin prickles and the hairs on his arms raise every time he hears a noise in the hall. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Some scene out of a horror movie, where the one who’s been leaving him notes suddenly kicks in the door, in an old fashioned hockey mask and waving a whirring chainsaw, is completely out of the realm of things that could possibly, realistically happen. But that leaves something even more terrifying – something _within_ the realm of things that could happen. Luke is mostly afraid because he doesn’t know what those things are. There’s so much unknown, so many dark places for his imagination to wander to.  
   
The doorknob scratches as it turns, and Luke’s heart stops for a moment as he looks up. When the door opens and light floods in from the hallway, it’s Michael’s silhouette that comes into the room, and Luke relaxes.  
   
“What are you sitting in the dark?” Michael asks.  
   
Luke shrugs. Michael probably doesn’t see it.  
   
The door closes, and he comes over to where Luke is curled in the chair. In the light from the streetlamps below, shadows look like lines on Michael’s face. It makes him look older, and worried.  
   
“You know you can’t come with me tomorrow, right?” Luke says. He wishes so much it weren’t true. “It’s one thing for us to come back here in the middle of the night, but we can’t walk together into the testing facility. They’ll pounce on you.”  
   
“I’m coming,” Michael says stubbornly. “After we tell them what’s been going on, if they still care about this stupid ban? I won’t care if they disqualify me. I don’t wanna be part of a system that would still keep me away from you while your life is being threatened, just because we both have dicks and it makes a few bigots uncomfortable.”  
   
“Michael.”  
   
“Don’t even bother, okay? I’m coming, I don’t care what you think about it. I’m not asking for your permission.”  
   
Luke stares at him for a moment, and then laughs. It isn’t funny, he’s just stressed and worried and he doesn’t know how to feel any more about any of it.  
   
“Don’t make fun of me,” Michael grumps.  
   
“I’m not.” Luke holds out his hand, and Michael takes it. He pulls Michael into his lap. “I’m not. I love you.”  
   
“I love you back. I’m so sorry this is happening to you.” Michael curls around Luke, his head fitting in the space between Luke’s shoulder and his neck.  
   
“It’s not your fault.” Luke kisses his nose, and when Michael makes a soft noise in his throat, Luke repeats it. “Hey. It isn’t. Tell me you believe that.”  
   
“I didn’t do any of it, so yeah, I believe it isn’t my fault.” Michael sighs. The air tickles Luke’s cheek. “That doesn’t mean I’m not mad. And sorry I couldn’t stop it from happening.”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”  
   
“Especially since you didn’t tell me until today.” Michael pokes Luke gently in the ribs.  
   
“I should have,” Luke says seriously. “I’m sorry.”  
   
“I understand why you didn’t.”  
   
Luke turns his face so he can bury his face in Michael’s pale blue hair. It was brilliant turquoise when he first dyed it; now it’s faded into a soft periwinkle.  
   
“Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”  
   
“I don’t know what I’m thinking.” Luke inhales deeply, drawing Michael’s comforting scent into his lungs, and then exhales just as heavily.  
   
“Are you scared?”  
   
“Yes,” Luke admits, without hesitation. He doesn’t need to, around Michael.  
   
“Me too.”  
   
“Mostly I’m worried that … our game against Sweden is tomorrow night. What if they can’t get the test done and verified or whatever before then, and I can’t play?”  
   
“You won’t be letting your team down,” Michael says, speaking out loud the thought that was nagging in Luke’s brain.  
   
“Yes I will.”  
   
“No, you won’t,” Michael insists. He lifts his head to look Luke in the eye. “It’s not your fault. It will fucking suck if you can’t play but _you_ aren’t letting them down. You haven’t done anything wrong.”  
   
“Except love you. And be open about it.”  
   
“Does that feel wrong to you?”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “No,” he whispers.  
   
“Me neither.” Michael brushes his lips against Luke’s. “I don’t care what happens, I’m never gonna hide what we have.”  
   
Luke chases after Michael’s mouth when it falls away from his, needing the reassurance and the familiar taste of Michael’s lips.  
   
“I’ve spent so much of my life hiding, Luke,” Michael says, into Luke’s neck, as he kisses it. “I never wanted to be out, my dad forced me out. Who knows how long I would have kept hiding it if he hadn’t.”  
   
“Don’t give him credit for that. You’re stronger than you think you are.”  
   
“But it’s everything else, too. I hid the bruises, from when he hit me. I hid from my team, my first year. I didn’t let anyone but Cal have even a chance of getting close to me. I hid how bad the stuff with my dad was, from you. I didn’t tell you for so long.”  
   
“You don’t owe anyone anything.” Luke slides the backs of his knuckles over Michael’s cheek.  
   
“I owe it to myself.” Michael smiles a little and turns his face into Luke’s touch. “And to you. I’m not hiding you away, not ever. I don’t care if that gets me sent home, if they never let me play for the Olympic team ever again because I refuse to be swept under the rug just so they don’t have to deal with the bad publicity.”  
   
“Me neither.”  
   
“Good.”  
   
Michael kisses him again, hard and messy this time, all traces of sweetness gone and replace by need and desperation. Luke feels it too. He loves Michael with every cell in his body, but it’s never been easy. Around every new corner there’s been something else for them to fight against, something new for them to overcome, since the first time they kissed. Sometimes, Luke loses himself in the chaos and ends up twisting and falling and needing. Sometimes Michael is the only stable thing Luke has to hold on to. It’s always been okay, because Michael holds on just as tight.  
   
Michael attaches his lips to Luke’s neck and sucks, nipping just a little, and Luke hisses.  
   
“There’s gonna be a bruise there tomorrow,” he half-complains, rubbing his fingers over the spot when Michael releases it.  
   
“I know,” Michael says, grinning like it’s what he wanted.  
   
“You’re a jerk,” Luke tells him. He doesn’t mean it. He means entirely the opposite.  
   
“I might get sent home tomorrow.” Michael gets a hand between them and lets his fingers play idly over where Luke’s not quite soft in his jeans anymore. “So we should make the most of tonight.”  
   
“I might get sent home tomorrow too,” Luke points out. His breath catches in his throat when Michael presses the heel of his palm down, dragging it up Luke’s half-erection slowly, pressure and heat.  
   
“No, you won’t,” Michael promises. “Whatever goes down, I won’t let that happen.”  
   
Luke doesn’t ask how he plans on keeping that promise, when neither of them have much control over the situation. Instead he pushes at Michael’s shirt, his fingers touching smooth, warm skin as he lifts the material over Michael’s head. Michael smiles at him, fond this time but his eyes are dark and shiny. He unbuttons Luke’s flannel slowly, revealing skin with each unhooked button and kissing where the cool air hits Luke’s chest. He slips off the chair and to the floor, kneeling between Luke’s feet and licking at his stomach as he pushes the undone shirt off to Luke’s sides.  
   
“What are we doing?” Luke asks, lazily dragging his fingers through Michael’s hair, messing it up, as Michael teases; runs his nose along the waistband of Luke’s jeans, careful to ignore the bulge in his pants.  
   
“The world is being mean to you right now,” Michael answers. He pops the button on Luke’s jeans and drags the zipper down slowly, the metallic scrape loud to Luke’s ears even though his heart is beating in there as well. Michael kisses below Luke’s belly button, pushing his boxers down and licking _so_ close to where Luke really wants him to but still avoiding it. “So maybe I feel like being extra nice.”  
   
Luke smiles. “I love you.”  
   
“You’d say that to anyone who was about to suck your dick.”  
   
“Probably,” Luke laughs. “You’re the only one who ever does, though. So you’re the only one I say it to.”  
   
“I better be.”  
   
Still kissing Luke’s abdomen, Michael finally reaches into his jeans and wrestles them down far enough to get Luke’s erection out, and he sighs in relief. Michael breathes hot air over him and then licks slowly up the underside, his tongue playing over sensitive veins. Luke’s eyes close and his head falls back against the headrest. He keeps them closed as long as he can, shutting off his primary sense and just floating in sensations; Michael’s lips wrapped around him, sucking at the head, tongue flicking underneath. Luke squeezes his handfuls of Michael’s hair and tries not to thrust up into his mouth, just letting Michael set the pace, but it feels so good and Luke’s thighs clench with the effort of keeping still.  
   
Michael pulls off and pats Luke’s hip, mumbles, “Do it,” and then wraps his lips back around Luke’s cock.  
   
“Fuck,” Luke breathes, opening his eyes and lifting his head back up because suddenly he needs to see, needs to watch as he slowly moves his hip, fucks himself gently into Michael’s mouth. It feels like there are spiders under his skin, he’s itchy and uncomfortable and everything is too hot but in the best way. Michael wiggles his eyebrows, and Luke almost laughs but then Michael relaxes his jaw and Luke slips into his throat. It’s all warm and wet and Luke can’t help it, his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he comes and Michael drinks it down and hums around Luke’s pulsing cock and Luke has to close his eyes again because it’s too much.  
   
Michael’s breath is quick and ragged when he pulls off, tugging at Luke’s jeans to get them all the way to the floor while Luke is still reclined in the chair, panting and useless.  
   
“C’mon, help me,” Michael grumbles. “I’m so fuckin’ hard I’m actually going to die.”  
   
“I’m not,” Luke points out, his words slurred. “That’s your own fault.”  
   
“Rude.” Michael manages to get Luke’s jeans off, and then strips out of his own clothes and tries in vain to get Luke on his feet. “Hey, up and at ‘em Hemmings, we aren’t done yet.”  
   
“Again, I am,” Luke says, but he’s joking, and his thighs shake with the effort but he stands and lets Michael pull him into a bruising kiss. “Which one of our best friends’ beds should you fuck me on?”  
   
Michael moans, but also laughs. “Calum’s. He was a dick to you earlier.”  
   
“He was scared,” Luke argues. “He loves too hard.”  
   
“Don’t tell him that, he’d punch you.”  
   
Luke kisses Michael to shut him up. “Let’s not talk about Calum.”  
   
Michael pushes his palm into Luke’s chest and knocks him down onto the bed. Luke bounces as he lands and Michael crawls on top of him, kissing his way up Luke’s body. Luke shivers, and his still-interested cock twitches against his hip.  
   
“How about instead – ” Michael pauses to dip his tongue into Luke’s mouth and swirl it languidly around Luke’s – “we talk about how I’m gonna lick you open? Get you all slippery and loose and ready for me, drive you crazy until you’re begging me for a finger.”  
   
Luke can’t breathe properly. “Michael,” is all he can say, gripping the back of Michael’s neck as Michael presses wet kisses all over Luke’s chest and stomach, pressing dirty words gently into Luke’s skin with a reverence that’s in stark contrast to what he’s saying.  
   
“You want it? Wanna be messy and pleading me to fuck you?”  
   
“You know I do, stop playing.”  
   
“Pushy.”  
   
“Tease,” Luke counters.  
   
Michael grins up at him and winks. “Never.”  
   
He slides back down Luke’s body, huddling in between his legs. Luke spreads them apart to make room, and pushes up to his elbows to watch as Michael tugs his hips and hooks his arms under Luke’s ass and tilts it so he can duck down and kiss the insides of Luke’s thighs. It’s too slow, too gentle, and Luke wants to beg him to hurry up but he won’t give Michael the satisfaction of know how badly he wants it, even though it’s useless to be proud because Michael already knows everything.  
   
The first soft lick over his hole has Luke’s heart racing and his arms shaking with the effort of holding himself up. Michael drags his tongue flatly over it and flicks his tongue against it, licking in small circles just to make Luke hate him for taunting. Then he pushes the point of his tongue inside and Luke can’t prop himself up anymore; he collapses back onto the bed and swears and Michael chuckles and the vibration ricochets through Luke like a pinball in a machine. Luke feels his muscles relaxing as Michael slides a spit-sticky finger inside, not waiting for Luke to beg for it like he said he was going to, and dragging it way too slow in an out while he licks around it and Luke half wants to die and half wants it to never end.  
   
“Michael,” Luke says again. He sounds wrecked, and feels it too.  
   
“Patience,” Michael chastises. He bends his finger, drags it along the walls of Luke’s insides. Pushing in just a little further, he finds the spot, and Luke’s spine tingles as Michael presses against it. “You’re so hot like this, babe, fuck.”  
   
“Please,” Luke whines, any pride he possible had left gone now, and Michael laughs softly again, rough and sweet like gravel and honey.  
   
He kisses Luke’s hip as he sits up, is gone for just a moment and then is back, hovering over Luke, staring down at him with dark, hooded eyes and his lips red and messy with spit. Luke stares up at him, his gaze never leaving Michael’s as Michael reaches between them and pushes himself inside. It takes Luke’s breath away, slowly going from empty to so full there isn’t enough room left for his lungs to find the air they need, and he can’t breathe again until Michael is in all the way, his hips pressing against Luke’s ass.  
   
He lowers himself down to his elbows, and Luke wraps his legs around Michael’s waist to change the angle and gasps when the blunt head of Michael’s cock rubs against the spot inside him. Michael’s still just staring, so many things in his eyes that Luke can’t decipher them all, and he can’t look away. They move together, and when Michael whimpers and falls down into Luke because he can’t hold himself up anymore, Luke’s arms go around him as well and he clings and kisses Michael and it feels like hitting a reset button and going right back to the start. Back before it became about more than just the two of them. Back to the first time they kissed when it was real, the first time Luke saw Michael without clothes on and touched him and felt him and fell in love with him between blue sheets.  
   
“M’close,” Luke warns, shivering as Michael’s cock skates over his prostate.  
   
“Me too,” Michael laughs and it’s shaky. Nothing is funny, he’s just happy. Michael laughs a lot when they do this. Luke loves it. Nothing has ever been more beautiful in his eyes than Michael smiling.  
   
Michael moves, and the angle changes again, and Luke cries out. “There,” he moans. “Just like that, keep going.”  
   
Michael kisses him and fucks him, quick and unrelenting, and Luke’s whole body tenses as he goes over the edge and spills between them. Michael groans and keeps thrusting into him through the crashing waves, grunting a minute later and then falling, exhausted, into Luke’s.  
   
Luke can’t move with Michael pinning him to the mattress but he maybe couldn’t move even if Michael wasn’t. He floats in the lasting bliss, his eyes closed and his head spinning and everything is warm and soft and he never wants it to fade. When Michael stirs, Luke holds him tighter and keeps him close. “Stay,” he asks, and his voice comes out so small.  
   
“Not goin’ anywhere,” Michael soothes. “Just to get a towel.”  
   
“Not yet,” Luke pleads. “Just another minute.”  
   
Michael kisses his cheek and relaxes back into Luke’s chest, and stays much longer than a minute.  
   
*           *           *


	18. dekaokto

As a minor league athlete for most of his teenage years and a professional athlete for the last three, Luke has peed in a lot of cups. It’s standard practice. He’s done it a few times a year for the majority of his life. He’s never been humiliated by it. This time, he is.  
   
This time, standing in a sterile testing facility at a urinal with a technician in a lab coat hovering over him, watching, making sure it comes out of Luke’s own body and not a water bottle full of someone else’s piss that he’s squeezing into the container; Luke feels like screaming. The injustice of it all has him wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole and never let him resurface. Everyone must know, by now. His coach maybe managed to keep the media from finding out but his team must know that there’s a chance Luke won’t get to play tonight, in the game that determines whether they’ll get to play for an Olympic gold. Even if it comes back negative, and it has to because he isn’t doping, he’ll still have to face them with the knowledge that he almost let every one of them down. If they lose this game because of Luke, he’ll never forgive himself.  
   
“Do you need more water?” the technician asks rudely, in an American accent, pointing out that they’ve been standing here for a minute and Luke hasn’t gone yet.  
   
“No, just …” Luke sighs. “Give me a minute.”  
   
“You must be used to this by now.”  
   
“I’m used to doing this because it’s a routine part of my job,” Luke snaps. “I’m not use to having to do it because someone I don’t even know is accusing me of cheating.”  
   
“Well if you’re innocent, you don’t have anything to worry about,” the technician says snidely – unnecessarily – communicating in tone that he doesn’t believe Luke is innocent at all.  
   
“Thanks,” Luke mutters. Then, because he’s feeling like dishing out a little of what’s been dealt to him, he adds, “how do you like your job, looking at dicks all day long?”  
   
The technician smirks. “That’s real clever, coming from you. Everyone knows what you are.”  
   
“Congratulations.” Luke knows it’s a terrible retort. He’s too annoyed to think of a better one.  
   
He hands the cup over when he’s done, purposely slopping it a bit so pee drips over the man’s gloved fingers. The technician just sneers at him, and Luke brushes past him on his way out of the bathroom.  
   
*           *           *  
   
“What do we do now?” Jack asks.  
   
They’re all crowded in Luke’s family’s room again; Michael and Luke and Ashton on one bed, Jack, Ben, and Calum on the other, Luke’s mom in a chair by the window, and his dad pacing agitatedly by the door.  
   
“Wait, I guess,” Ben answers, when no one else does.  
   
Luke stares down at his hands. He feels an arm go around his shoulders, and wordlessly he leans into Michael, not caring that they aren’t alone. Michael wraps him up, and Luke pushes his face into Michael’s neck, his ear pressed flat against Michael’s jaw, so the conversation beyond this small safe place is muffled.  
   
“What if it’s positive?” Calum wonders.  
   
“It won’t be,” Ashton says.  
   
“No, I know that. But what if it is, like what if it gets tampered with or something? What happens then?”  
   
No one has a response. It’s something Luke’s been thinking about a lot, in the last few hours. At this point, he’s almost expecting it. It would just be in keeping with everything else that’s gone wrong this week. It’s hard to look back and realize it’s only been a week. Luke feels like this is a war he’s been fighting for months. Maybe because in some ways, he has. Some things have changed in the years since he fell in love with Michael. Marriage equality is legal in a lot more countries. Official policies have been altered. In Canada, men who sleep with men can give blood donations now. That was passed earlier this year. Overall attitudes are better than they were. But it’s still been a struggle. Luke is still reminded every day of his life that he and Michael still aren’t like just anyone else. There are still looks from strangers, and slurs from opposing players, and rude questions from reporters. Most people have the luxury of full ignorance of things that Luke deals with every day.  
   
“We can’t just sit here all day long,” Ashton says finally. “It could be hours before the results are in. We should do something.”  
   
“Yeah, we should,” Calum chimes in. The two of them have been trying to keep everyone’s spirits up since yesterday, and Luke will have to remember to thank them for it one day. He’s not sure he’d have the words, just now. He doesn’t seem to have any words at all.  
   
“Does anyone want to go sight-seeing?” Ashton asks. There’s desperation in his voice.  
   
“We kinda already did,” Ben says.  
   
“Something else, then. Lunch?”  
   
Again, no one answers. Luke doesn’t feel like doing anything but pulling the sheets over his head and hiding from the world. Probably, everyone else feels the same way.  
   
*           *           *  
   
The words _it’s positive_ in so many contexts aren’t ominous or terrible at all. There are situations where that could be the best news a person could have dared to hope for. A pregnancy test when a baby was being tried for, is the only one that comes to Luke’s mind, but there must be others. In this one, though, they’re the worst thing Luke’s coach could possible say. He comes to the room, where Luke and his family still are. He calls first, and when he won’t reveal the news over the phone, Luke knows right away that means it’s bad. He tries to pretend to be optimistic, for the sake of everyone else, but he knows before it even happens. When his dad opens the door and his coach comes into the room, his expression is grim, and that confirms it for Luke, and for everyone else as well.  
   
“No fucking way,” Calum says instantly, voicing what they’re all thinking.  
   
“I’m sorry,” John says heavily. “Luke, it’s positive.”  
   
“That’s bullshit!” Andy yells. Jack repeats it, in much harsher words.  
   
Luke is empty. He has no feelings on any of it, because he has no feelings at all.  
   
“It’s not possible.” Ashton gets off the bed and faces Luke’s coach. “Listen to me, this is a mistake.”  
   
“I was hoping for a different outcome, obviously.” Rubbing his hand over his goatee, John adds, “it will take them a while to do further testing, to find out exactly what it’s positive _for_. Right now, all they know is that there is something in your body that shouldn’t be there.”  
   
“But there isn’t!” Michael cries.  
   
“We have known Luke for three years,” Calum says. His voice is low and dangerous. “He has never _once_ taken anything illegal. He never would!”  
   
“Never,” Ben echoes. “We’re his brothers, we’ve known him since he was born. This isn’t the kind of person Luke is.”  
   
“I’m his mother,” Liz adds, with tears in her eyes. “Luke wouldn’t do this.”  
   
“I wish your word was enough, but it isn’t. There are rules. Testing positive for any banned substance disqualifies you from competing. There’s no way out of this.”  
   
“I didn’t take anything,” Luke says, finding his voice, although it’s weak.  
   
His coach fixes him with a look; like he’s searching Luke’s eyes, trying to find a reason to believe him. “Then how do you explain this?”  
   
“I’m being … sabotaged. That sounds so stupid, it sounds like something out of a movie, but it’s true.”  
   
“He received anonymous death threats,” Jack elaborates. “Three of them. One of them threatened us.”  
   
“One of them came through his window with a rock,” Michael continues. “This is all part of it, it has to be. The person who called in the drug tip was the guy that’s doing this. He did something with Luke’s test.”  
   
“The testing facility has higher security than any building in the whole village,” John points out. “How would that be possible?”  
   
“I don’t know, but it is,” Ashton insists. “Maybe he had help. Maybe one of the employees there.”  
   
John looks back at Luke. “Have you told anyone?”  
   
“The police.” Luke stares back down at his hands. He can’t bear all these eyes being on him. “They wouldn’t help. And some official, that was there this morning when I was tested. He didn’t believe me either, he said I was making it up to get out of being disqualified.”  
   
“Are you?”  
   
Michael reaches into his pocket and produces the third note, and holds it out for the coach to take. Luke doesn’t remember how Michael ended up with it. He knows he threw the first two away, and the police wouldn’t help him because he didn’t have them. He must have left this one in Michael’s room, and Michael found it.  
   
“Did you show this to anyone else?”  
   
Luke shakes his head.  
   
“I …” John looks around the room, and exhales. “Alright. I believe you. You’re right, this can’t be a coincidence. I will see what I can do, to get everyone else to believe it, too.”  
   
“What about the game tonight?” Andy asks.  
   
“I’ll try.” John doesn’t look optimistic. “There’s only an hour before I have to be at the arena, I don’t know that I’ll be able to get this fixed before then. If I can’t, you’ll play in the next game, Luke. I’ll make sure of it.”  
   
Luke nods. He doesn’t bother getting his hopes up. Disappointment hurts too much.  
   
*           *           *  
   
His team wins the game. Luke watches it from a hotel room, with Michael. His family and Calum and Ashton had tickets to the game, since Luke was meant to play in it, and he insisted that they go. None of them wanted to, but Luke reasoned that his team would need an extra loud cheering section and with somber faces, they all agreed. Likely, they didn’t buy his attempt at convincing them. They could just sense that Luke is drained and can’t look at their sad eyes anymore and needs a break. Luke watches his team fight to a 4-3 victory over Team Sweden, curled up in Michael’s arms on the bed his brothers have slept in this week. It feels hollow. He’s happy they won, in theory. But he doesn’t feel it. He should be on the ice with them. He should have been the one to flick that pass across the blue line in the second period so Cam could slide the puck into the net between the goalie’s knees. He should have been in the tussle as the final buzzer went, pulling Swedish players off those from his own team. He should have been there at the end in the huddle, as they all celebrate their win.  
   
“It’s gonna be okay,” Michael keeps whispering to him.  
   
Luke doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t really believe that and probably neither does Michael, and saying so would be as pointless as pretending he agrees.  
   
“We’re gonna win our game, tomorrow,” Michael promises. He kisses Luke’s hair. “And they’ll find out who’s doing this to you, and you’ll get to play in the final against us. You and me fighting for gold, ultimate bragging rights. So we can finally know who the better player is. Just like we joked about.”  
   
Luke nods. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch the T.V. screen anymore, and turns his face into Michael’s chest.  
   
“You don’t stand a chance.” Michael is joking; feigning over-confidence in an effort to make Luke smile. “You’ve got some decent players, but Canada owns hockey.”  
   
When Luke stays silent, Michael hugs him tighter, whispers _I love you_ , and falls silent as well. Luke loves him back, more than anything, but doesn’t have the words to say it right now.  
   
*           *           *


	19. dekaenia

Luke sleeps so restlessly. Michael is wrapped around him, but Luke wishes he were alone because he tosses and turns so much that he doubts Michael gets much sleep either, and that isn’t fair. When he wakes up in the morning, eight hours have passed but he feels like he slept for maybe two of them. He’s sweaty and cold at the same time, and every muscle in his body aches, and his head hurts too, and the dark purple circles under Michael’s eyes make Luke feel like shit. Michael promises that it’s fine, but he would say that even if it weren’t fine, so Luke doesn’t believe him.  
   
Last night, after the game ended, Luke’s phone buzzed with texts from his teammates. Their coach explained what had happened, Luke gathered, judging by Cam’s _what the actual fuck Hemmings, why didn’t you tell anyone this was happening??_ and Blake’s slightly kinder _This is so shitty man, Idek. I’m sorry you couldn’t play. We missed you_. When he drags his tired body out of bed in the morning, there are notifications on his phone and it’s a few minutes before Luke can bring himself to look at them.  
   
When he does, he shouldn’t have waited. Michael is in the shower, and Luke sits on the bed with his leg bouncing erratically; impatiently waiting. He could just go in, it’s not like there’s anything going on in that bathroom that he’s never seen before, but instead he waits. When Michael emerges in a cloud of moist air, with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips and his damp hair sending water droplets sliding down his pale chest in a way that usually would make Luke hungry to lick them off, Luke stands, and Michael’s face instantly falls.  
   
“What? What happened?”  
   
“Coach wants to meet me. Too you.” Luke holds up his phone, to indicate the source of the information.  
   
“Now?”  
   
“As soon as we can.”  
   
“What do you think that means?”  
   
Luke exhales and shakes his head. “I have no idea. It could be bad news just as easily as good.”  
   
“Where?”  
   
Luke looks at the message. “It’s some Olympic office, I think. It looks official.”  
   
“So they either found out you were telling the truth, or they didn’t and they’re sending you home.” Michael pushes his wet hair off his forehead. “Fuck.”  
   
“Fuck,” Luke repeats.  
   
“It’s the first one.” Michael doesn’t sound confident about it, but like he’s trying to pretend. Luke appreciates the effort, even if it doesn’t help anything. “It has to be.”  
   
Luke just nods.  
   
“Okay.” Michael blows out a breath. “Okay, I’ll get dressed. Text your mom, and Ashton.”  
   
After he disappears back into the bathroom, Luke does text Ashton. He leaves his mom out of it, though. There’s no point in worrying her before he finds out what’s going on. She’ll just sit around fretting until Luke can get back to her with details. Leaving her in the dark for now is kinder.  
   
 _Can I come with you_? Ashton texts back immediately.  
   
 _I don’t think so_ , Luke answers.  
   
 _Cal says thats bullshit_  
   
 _Tell him its not my decision. I’ll let u guys know more when I do._ Luke sends the text and puts his phone on silent.  
   
*           *           *  
   
“Do you recognize him?” a woman in a sharp black suit asks. She has pale orange hair streaked with grey, curly and pulled back into a loose knot at the back of her head. Her pointy eyeglasses make her look like a cartoon owl. She places a photograph down on the table in front of Luke.  
   
They’re in a board room, with high ceilings and big windows, overlooking the ski lifts. In the distance, ski jumpers slide down enormous ramps and then fly through the air, flipping and twisting and making the impossible look simple, before landing on their skis and gliding gracefully down the rest of the slope. If Luke tried that, he would break his neck. Michael’s roommate, when they first got here, was a Canadian ski jumper. Luke wonders if he’s out there competing right now.  
   
“Hemmings?”  
   
Luke blinks and looks up. His coach is standing with all the others, looking at him with a frown on his face.  
   
“Sorry.” Luke gives himself a mental shake and looks down at the photograph. Brown hair and eyes, angular cheekbones and sharp eyebrows, and a mean looking scowl stare back up at him. Luke tries to think where he might have seen this person before, but he can’t. “No, I don’t. Who is he?”  
   
“His name is Pavel Grekov. He’s a speed-skater,” the woman answers. “He won a bronze medal a few days ago, and a silver last week in the relay.”  
   
“That’s him,” Michael says quietly, like he can’t quite believe it. Luke doesn’t know what to think.  
   
“You know him?” a man in a navy blue suit asks.  
   
“No, I mean, that’s the guy who’s been doing this,” Michael clarifies. “Right?”  
   
“We don’t know for sure. We found him on the security tapes, at the lab.” The man lays out a few more photographs, these ones grainy and in black and white. They look like stills from the security camera outside the building, and depict the man from the first photo is handing a small paper bag to a lab technician through the back door. In one shot, he’s looking almost directly at the camera.  
   
“He switched the sample,” Luke concluded.  
   
“It certainly looks that way. And he had help.” A thick finger with a fancy ring on it points to the technician in the photograph. “This man has been taken into custody as well.”  
   
“You have him, then? The Russian guy?”  
   
“Grekov,” the woman repeats. “Yes, they are both in police custody. Neither have confessed to anything yet, but they’ll have to eventually. This footage is enough to prove they were tampering with the results of your drug test. If we test you again and it’s negative this time, we’ll know for sure.”  
   
“What about the notes he sent?” Michael asks.  
   
“As I said, he hasn’t confessed to anything yet. If he does, we’ll let you know.”  
   
“What does this mean?” Luke looks at the woman, and then at his coach, and back.  
   
“We’ll take you now, to be retested,” the woman says. “I will personally watch another technician test the sample. If it comes back clean, you can play in the final tomorrow.”  
   
“What about him?” Michael gestures to the photo of Grekov. He’s managing to hide it from everyone else, but Luke knows him well enough to hear the quiet, veiled rage in Michael’s voice. Michael’s blood is boiling; if it were up to him, he’d likely march out of this room and over to the police station to do a little interrogating of his own.  
   
“Unless he admits to sending the notes, we have no way of proving he did so,” the man with the thick fingers tells them. “But we have enough information from the security tapes to have him disqualified. It will be up to the discipline committee, what happens to him from here. I wouldn’t be surprised if they strip him of the medals he won and ban him from competing in international competition for at least a year. He has violated the Olympic mandate of sportsmanship and friendly competition.”  
   
“He’s made everyone look bad, too, hasn’t he?” Michael asks, but he isn’t really asking. He’s being passive aggressive, but Luke can’t say it’s unjustified, after everything that’s been allowed to go on. “He got past hotel security that was supposed to be tight, he managed to break into a locked room to steal Luke’s skates, he tampered with an official drug test. And no one would have even known it, if Luke hadn’t spoken up, even though he was caught on tape doing it. What’s the point of having security cameras if no one is watching them?”  
   
The man and woman exchange weary glances, but they don’t argue. The woman’s answer is careful, and diplomatic. “On behalf of the IOC, we regret – ”  
   
“You know what, don’t.” Michael holds his hand up. “That doesn’t help us, don’t bother.”  
   
“Michael,” Luke says softly.  
   
“He will certainly be punished, Mr. Clifford. The IOC doesn’t take any of this lightly, you have my word on that.”  
   
“It shouldn’t have been able to happen in the first place,” Michael points out hotly. “But I guess now you need to cover your asses, hand down some big flashy punishment to this guy so that it looks in the media like the IOC doesn’t condone an athlete being targeted because he’s gay. Although the same people had no problem banning Luke and I from seeing each other because we’re gay, did they? Maybe you should work out where you stand before you go around handing out sentences.”  
   
The man glares, and looks as if he would love to snap right back at Michael, but he holds his tongue.  
   
“It isn’t just about appearances,” the woman says, her mouth pursed into a thin line that turns her lips white. “We are very sorry that this happened. There will be an investigation. That isn’t us attempting to placate you, it’s protocol. The situation will be examined, as it always is when an athlete has committed a crime during competition, and steps will be put into place so that this never happens again. And we will do everything in our power to make sure Mr. Grekov is adequately disciplined for what he has done.”  
   
“It’s fine,” Luke says, somewhat to the people in the suits but mostly to Michael. “Thank you.”  
   
“If you’d like, I can take you now,” the woman says. “To be retested. Mr. Clifford, you are welcome to accompany us.”  
   
“Luke didn’t let me come last time,” Michael says, looking at Luke as he does. He’d been angry, that morning, but Luke didn’t want to make things worse by bringing along the person he’d been banned from seeing. Michael hadn’t been happy at all about staying behind at the hotel. He only did it because Luke insisted.  
   
“C’mon.” Luke nudges Michael’s shoulder, and hopes Michael can let that go for the time being.  
   
*           *           *  
   
Four hours later, everything has flipped upside down from the state it was in last night, when Luke tried and failed to sleep and hope for a brighter tomorrow. He pees in another cup, and a different technician tests it there and then, while they all wait, and it’s clean. Luke gets the official all-clear to play in the final game tomorrow, against the winner of Michael’s game tonight. He gets word that after an hour of being interrogated Grekov confessed to everything – the notes, the skates, the drug test. He doesn’t confess to tampering remotely with Luke’s phone. Luke isn’t sure whether or not to believe it was a coincidence that his phone died suddenly and then started working again just as suddenly, but it doesn’t matter. The IOC decides, like the thick-fingered man predicted, to strip him of his two medals, send him home two days early, and ban him from international competition for two years. Because he is a Russian citizen, the case will be turned over to local authorities in his home town. He might do time in jail, although probably not, Luke is told, but he doesn’t really care either way. He doesn’t need the vindication of the man’s life being ruined. He just wants to play with his team, and to know that the person threatening him is being sent away so he can’t do it anymore.  
   
Michael isn’t taking it quite as well. He’s barely said a word all day. He’s just sat in whatever room they’ve happened to be in and fumed quietly. Luke doesn’t know what to say to him.  
   
“This is good news, Mikey,” Calum tries.  
   
“Cheer up, emo kid,” Ashton jokes, in an attempt to diffuse the tension that doesn’t really work.  
   
“I should go down to that police station and kick his teeth in,” Michael mutters.  
   
“How would you do that with him locked up?” Calum points out. “They’re not just gonna open his cell and let you in for a steel cage match.”  
   
“I could bribe them,” Michael says stubbornly. “This is the same police station that wouldn’t help Luke when he went to them, because he’s fucking another dude, so clearly they have no morals. Maybe they’d let me see him for the right price.”  
   
“Will you please stop talking like that?” Luke touches Michael’s shoulder, and they adds, “Hey,” when Michael won’t look at him, and cups Michael’s jaw so that he has no choice. “He deserves to be punched in the face. But you don’t deserve the consequences of being the one who did it.”  
   
“You gotta go soon, anyway.” Calum checks his phone for the time. “Actually, you gotta go now.”  
   
He’s right, so Michael gets up wordlessly and starts to leave the room. Luke grabs him before he gets to the door and pulls him into a kiss. Michael barely kisses back.  
   
“I love you,” Luke tells him. “Thank you for being pissed off on my behalf. Now go use that anger to kick some ass on the ice. I want a Canada – U.S. showdown in the gold medal game, like you said. You better win tonight.”  
   
Michael nods, and then he’s gone, and Luke turns back to find Calum and Ashton’s faces as worried as Luke feels inside.  
   
“It’s okay,” Calum says, trying to believe it for all of them. “He needs time to cool down. He’ll be fine.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
Another two hours later, Calum and Ashton head for the arena to watch Canada’s semi-final. Luke watches it with his family in their room, and lets his mother hug him as many times as she wants, because she was just as worried about him as Michael was. Michael is brilliant, as always. There is an extra bit of fire in him, and Luke knows exactly where it came from, but he’s proud that Michael’s able to use to for good instead of picking fights on the ice with players who don’t deserve it. Carey is spectacular in the net. His saves get more acrobatic and impossible as the night goes on, and P.K. scores an incredible goal on a power-play with wicked slapshot from the blue line, and when the final buzzer goes Canada won by three goals. Luke cheers for them with his family, grinning from ear to ear as he watches Michael celebrate with his teammates in red jerseys. They all try to lift Carey up on their shoulders, but he’s in full goalie gear so it doesn’t really work and they tumble instead to the ice in a mess of limbs and pads and smiles.  
   
Luke leaves his family’s room after the broadcast ends, hugging each of them before he goes, and meeting Calum and Ashton in theirs. They chat about the game, while Calum and Ashton wash the face-paint maple leafs off their chests. Ashton is laughing because the running red paint on Calum’s chest makes him look like a badly done-up murder victim from an episode of some cheesy procedural cop drama. Calum is laughing too, and Luke can’t stop smiling.  
   
Then his phone rings. The ID says _Pricer_. “Carey!” Luke yells. “You were a beast out there! I’m so stoked to score like ten goals on you in the gold fuckin’ medal game.”  
   
“Luke,” Carey says, and he sounds serious.  
   
Instantly, Luke’s good mood dissipates. “What?”  
   
“It’s Michael.”  
   
Luke’s heart stops. _“What’s_ Michael?”  
   
At the mention of his best friend’s name, Calum stops giggling and looks up. His dark eyes meet Luke’s and stay locked there as Carey continues.  
   
“We were in the locker room, celebrating, and he just left. He just got up and walked out.”  
   
“What … where did he go?”  
   
“It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know what he’s thinking he’s gonna do. He _can’t_ do anything, they won’t let him.”  
   
“Carey!” Luke demands, his heart racing now. “Tell me where he went.”  
   
“He said … the police station.”  
   
“The – to do _what_?”  
   
“I don’t know, that’s all he said.”  
   
Luke hangs up without saying goodbye.  
   
“What happened?” Ashton asks urgently.  
   
Luke shakes his head. “I don’t …”  
   
“ _What_? What is it?”  
   
“Michael’s on his way to the station. To Grekov.”  
   
“Why?” Ashton cries.  
   
“I don’t know,” Luke breathes.  
   
Calum’s face has gone white, and his eyes are so wide. “He’s gonna kill him.”  
   
*           *           *


	20. eikosi

“What do we do?” Luke asks, panicked.  
   
“He can’t _kill him_ ,” Ashton reasons. He looks terrified, but he’s trying to remain level headed.  
   
“You don’t know Michael like I do.” Calum is still so pale. “When someone hurts a person he loves …”  
   
“No.” Ashton shakes his head; his golden curls bounce. “I’m saying he literally _can’t_. The guy is behind bars. Michael can’t just waltz into a Korean police station and announce that he’d like to murder the guy in cell B, and expect them to just open the door for him. If anything, they’ll throw _Michael_ into a cell.”  
   
“Well that’s not good either!” Luke cries.  
   
“Call him,” Calum says.  
   
Luke finds Michael’s number in his recent contacts. It rings three times and goes to voicemail. He hangs up and tries again. “He isn’t answering.”  
   
Calum gets his own phone and starts typing furiously, no doubt sending texts that Michael probably won’t look at either.  
   
“Michael,” Luke says, after the speak-now beep on his outgoing message. “Michael, whatever you think you’re doing, you need to stop. This isn’t going to help anything, you’re just gonna get yourself in shit. Please, just come back, okay? Please. If you get this … call me. Don’t do anything stupid. I love you.”  
   
Luke’s voice breaks over the last three words, and emotion wells up in his throat as he hangs up the phone.  
   
“For fuck’s sake,” Calum mutters, putting his phone up to his ear as well. Luke hears Michael’s voicemail message through the speaker of Calum’s phone, and Calum doesn’t look scared anymore. He looks furious. “Michael, you complete fucking moron, turn around right now and get back here so I can kick your ass for being so fucking _stupid_. What the hell are you thinking? Get back here now, I am so not kidding.”  
   
“Should we go after him?” Ashton asks. “We know where he’s going.”  
   
Calum makes an irritated noise in his throat. “Why the fuck didn’t I think of that?”  
   
Luke is frozen to the spot as his friends grab for their shoes and coats. He’s paralyzed, he doesn’t know what he should be doing, what will happen to Michael when he gets to the station, what will happen to them if they follow him there.  
   
“Are you coming?” Calum calls to Luke, but as his hand reaches for the door, there’s a knock from the other side. Calum pauses, and looks back at Ashton, and then pulls it open.  
   
Michael is on the other side, his hair covered in snowflakes and his cheeks flushed and his bare hands curled into fists, the skin reddened from the cold February air. With widened eyes and raised eyebrows, Calum steps back enough to let Michael in, but only manages to keep silent for a moment before he attacks.  
   
“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” he asks slowly, his voice low and dangerously quiet.  
   
“I didn’t do anything,” Michael mumbles. He shrugs out of his coat and tosses it onto the bed.  
   
“What were you _going_ to do?” Calum replies, just a bit louder.  
   
“Cal,” Ashton says softly. “Go easy.”  
   
He puts a hand on Calum’s shoulder, and Calum shakes it off.  
   
Luke wishes Michael would look at him. “Babe, what happened?”  
   
Michael doesn’t answer.  
   
“Hey!” Calum snaps, grabbing Michael’s arm and turning him roughly to face them. “He asked you a question!”  
   
“Nothing happened!” Michael insists. He looks far too upset for it to be the truth. He sits on the edge of the bed and stares down at the floor.  
   
“Carey called me and said you were on your way to the station, to the guy,” Luke tells him. His voice shakes.  
   
“I figured he would.”  
   
“Which is the stupidest _fucking_ thing you’ve – were you trying to get _yourself_ sent home? Or fucking arrested? I didn’t spend our whole childhood picking up the pieces every time you fell apart just to watch you throw your life away for some homophobic asshole! I had to be strong every fucking day for you, so you need to be better than this!” Calum yells.  
   
“Calum,” Luke pleads. He meets Calum’s eyes and tries to plead with them as well as his words. _Something_ happened, and Michael might be willing to talk about it if they were alone. “Can you guys give us a minute?”  
   
Calum just looks angrier, but Ashton steps in between them and gently pushes Calum toward the door. “We’ll go get some coffee.”  
   
“No the fuck we won’t!”  
   
“Cal.” Ashton looks at him, and something passes between them, and then Calum sighs in annoyance and accepts defeat.  
   
“You’re still on my shit-list,” he grinds out, pointing menacingly at Michael, but he lets Ashton lead him out of the room.  
   
“Can you please just tell me what happened?” Luke asks softly. He wants to go to Michael, to sit on his lap and kiss him and take that look off his face. Instead, he doesn’t move a muscle.  
   
“I was halfway there,” Michael mumbles.  
   
“And?”  
   
Michael stands up and blows out a breath. He rubs his hands through his hair and faces the window as he speaks. “I wanted to end him, Luke. As soon as we knew who he was, as soon as I saw his face, it was all I could think about. That he’d hurt you, scared you, and you’re mine and I’m supposed to keep things like this from happening to you.”  
   
“That’s not true,” Luke protests. “I know you don’t _want_ things like this to happen but I’m not your kid, Michael. It isn’t your job to keep me safe from the world.”  
   
“Yes it is,” Michael argues. “And I didn’t.”  
   
“You had nothing to do with _any_ of this. It’s so ridiculous that you’d blame yourself for something you didn’t even do.”  
   
“I saw his face and I just wanted to punch it until every bone broke,” Michael continues. His voice is quiet and dangerous. “And I was going to. I was on my way to do exactly that. I was gonna put him in a fucking coma, for what he did to you.”  
   
“ _How_? How were you planning on doing that when he’s behind bars?”  
   
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I didn’t think about anything, I just started walking over there.”  
   
“So what happened?”  
   
For a long moment, Michael doesn’t speak. His shoulders twitch, like he’s trying desperately to contain emotion that wants to explode out of him.  
   
“Michael,” Luke whispers.  
   
“After my mom died,” Michael begins heavily, “before it was about me being gay. Before I knew that for sure about myself, before _he_ knew it. He used to … it was always me, that started it.”  
   
Luke doesn’t understand. “That started what?”  
   
“I’d … get a bad mark on a test. Or I’d break a dish. Or I’d forget to take out the trash even though he told me ten times to do it.”  
   
Instantly, Luke realizes what Michael’s talking about, and it makes his skin crawl. “It wasn’t your fault, Michael. That he hit you. When a parent tells their kid to do something over and over and the kid forgets, they’re supposed to yell at you. They’re supposed to ground you for a weekend, or say no TV for a few days. You discipline a little kid by teaching them. Not by hitting them.”  
   
“I wasn’t a little kid. I was fifteen.”  
   
“So what?” Luke shakes his head, even though he knows Michael can’t see him. Michael still hasn’t turned around.  
   
“I’m not saying he was right. I’m saying this is how it started. He’d be mad at me, and he’d solve the problem with his fists.”  
   
“What does that have to do with anything?” Luke still doesn’t know where this is going – why Michael brought his father up in the first place. He just knows it can’t mean anything good.  
   
Finally, Michael does turn, and there are tears in his eyes. “I was on my way. I was so fucking mad, Luke. I just wanted to hurt somebody, to make him bleed, to make him pay for what he did. And then I was standing there in the snow and it all just came crashing down on me. That this is how it starts.”  
   
Luke blinks, and gapes at Michael. “How what starts?”  
   
“It’s not systematic,” Michael insists, like he thinks he’s making sense. He isn’t. “It’s not a conscious decision. It’s not like my dad woke up one morning and decided to become an abusive parent, like you’d decide to have pizza for dinner. It starts with being angry, and not knowing how to cope with it, and wanting to hurt someone else to make the feeling go away.”  
   
Far too slowly, it begins to dawn on Luke; what Michael’s saying. “No,” he says. He can’t make his mouth say anything else.  
   
“He didn’t come home from work in a bad mood and take it out on me, Luke. It was reactionary. He hit me when I did something that pissed him off. Isn’t that exactly what I was gonna do to the speed-skater? Isn’t that exactly what I _did_ do to that player from Switzerland who checked you?”  
   
“No,” Luke repeats. His heart is beating so fast, it’s making him feel queasy. “Michael, no.”  
   
“It’s a pattern.” Michael huffs, almost a laugh but it’s cold and humorless. He flails his arms out, and then lets them drop back down to his sides with a soft, helpless thump. “Or at least, it’s the beginning of a pattern. I shouldn’t want to physically harm someone just because they did something I don’t like. That shouldn’t be my first instinct. I shouldn’t want to solve problems with someone else’s blood on my knuckles.”  
   
“Listen to me.” Finally, Luke does go over to him, taking Michael’s face in between his shaking hands. Michael looks up at Luke with shiny green eyes. His bottom lip trembles. “Listen. This isn’t … it’s not the same. Wanting to punch that guy is not the same as your dad hitting you when you were fifteen because you forgot to take out the trash. It’s not on the same level.”  
   
“That doesn’t matter.” Michael’s mouth curls into a small smile, but he looks so sad. “They took away his medals, Luke. They’re sending him home, he’s banned from competing for two years _and_ he might even do time in jail. That’s a lot. It’s not like he got away with what he did. He’s getting exactly what he deserves, wouldn’t you say? That should be enough. If I was normal inside, it would be enough.”  
   
“You didn’t do it, though. That counts for something, doesn’t it? You _wanted_ to hurt him, but you didn’t. You stopped yourself.”  
   
“I didn’t stop myself from hitting the Swiss player.”  
   
“Hockey is different. There are different rules on the ice, you know that. A hockey fight isn’t like attacking someone in the street.”  
   
Michael shakes his head, and pulls away from Luke. “I lied,” he says, as he puts distance between them again. “I told you I went after that guy because he was hitting my teammates, but that isn’t true. It was just lucky, that he was being an ass during that game. It gave me an excuse. The truth is, I went after him because he hit you.”  
   
Luke already knew that. He’s pretty sure everyone already knew that. He doesn’t bother voicing it out loud. Instead, he says, “Maybe being in love makes you crazy. Maybe that’s okay.”  
   
Michael snorts. “That’s a cliché. This isn’t a teen romance novel.”  
   
“What are you saying, then? What’s the point of all this?”  
   
Michael turns, and fixes Luke with a long stare. The tears in his eyes spill over, running in smooth, shiny lines down his cheeks. “I’m becoming him.”  
   
It’s entirely what Luke expected Michael was going to say, but it still knocks the wind out of him, like being sucker-punched. Like the time he fell off the jungle gym when he was little and landed flat on his back, and for a minute he couldn’t breathe. “That’s not true.”  
   
“It is,” Michael insists, sadly. “I don’t know how this happened. You always hear about … people with abusive parents become abusive themselves because it’s all they know. I knew that was a thing, I tried so hard to stop it from happening to me. But it did anyway.”  
   
“You aren’t abusive,” Luke says sharply. The words feel like shards of glass on the way out. “You’ve never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it.”  
   
“According to my account of the situation. What about theirs? Who gets to decide whether or not they deserved it?”  
   
“So, what, then? What do we do? Do you want to talk to someone? Someone who could help you deal with this?”  
   
“Gay Canadiens forward sees shrink.” Michael sniffs. “That’d make a good headline.”  
   
“There’s nothing wrong with seeing a shrink. They exist because sometimes people need help.”  
   
Michael shakes his head and doesn’t answer.  
   
“How long have you felt like this?” Luke asks.  
   
Michael shrugs.  
   
“Because, I love you, but I think you’re wrong.” Again, Luke steps toward him. This time, he takes Michael’s hand and brings it up to his lips. “You get angry sometimes, like everyone. You’re human. And you’ve been through a lot of shit. No one would blame you for being angry sometimes. But most of the time you’re sweet and kind and … you’d never hurt anyone. Not in that way.”  
   
“You don’t know that.” Michael squeezes Luke’s fingers, but then pulls his hand out of Luke’s grasp.  
   
“Yes I do.”  
   
“No, you don’t,” Michael argues. “Because _I_ don’t know it. When I think about … about all the times I’ve wanted to beat someone’s face in. Hell, I wanted to beat _your_ face in when we first met. Maybe it’s a process. Maybe wanting to do it is where it all starts, and then over time you get closer and closer to breaking until you finally do. Maybe that’s what happened with my dad.”  
   
“And you really think it’s happening to you, too?” Luke can’t believe the words that he’s hearing. It’s all so insane. Michael might as well be talking about how he’d like them to move to Mars, for all the sense this makes.  
   
“What if it is? I have to put a stop to it, before …”  
   
“Before what?”  
   
“Before it goes too far.”  
   
“What’s too far?” Luke wants to grab Michael’s shoulders and shake him, force him to stop being so cryptic and just say what he’s thinking. All this dancing around the point is making Luke’s head hurt.  
   
“Before I hurt you.”  
   
Luke is terrified. “You won’t.”  
   
“You’re right. I won’t.” He’s so calm, his voice so quiet and final, like he’s already made up his mind. “I won’t give myself the chance.”  
   
“I don’t … what does that mean?”  
   
“I’m sorry, Luke.”  
   
“Sorry for what?”  
   
“It’s better this way.”  
   
“Better _what_ way? Michael. Please, what are you talking about?” Luke knows, though. His mind is putting up roadblocks, because he doesn’t want Michael to be saying what he’s saying. But he knows. “You don’t want to be with me anymore?”  
   
“I want to be with you more than anything. But not if it ends in me doing to you what he did to me.”  
   
“It wouldn’t!”  
   
Michael sits slowly on the bed. He leans over, resting his elbows on his knees, while Luke stares at him and his heart races. “I was so stupid,” Michael says softly. “Thinking I could actually have this. Us. Thinking he wouldn’t find a way to ruin any happiness I managed to find.”  
   
“He’s been in jail for over two years. He hasn’t done anything this time.” Luke’s voice wavers. “This is all you.”  
   
Michael doesn’t argue.  
   
Luke inhales harshly, his breath shuddering on the way in. If an earthquake hit right at this very moment, Luke still wouldn’t feel as unsteady as he does just now. In the back of his mind, he can almost see the walls crumbling around him, the ceiling caving in and the ground opening in jagged cracks and sucking everything down into the depths below.  
   
“What about everything you said just a week ago, about protecting me from anything?” Luke asks. “What about ten minutes ago, when you said you wanted to keep me safe from the world?”  
   
“Can’t you see that’s what I’m doing?” Michael begs. “That’s exactly what I’m doing, Luke, I am protecting you. I’m protecting you from _me_.”  
   
“I don’t need to be protected from you.”  
   
“I think you do.”  
   
“You asked me not to leave, once,” Luke says. His voice breaks, and it’s a struggle to keep it even as he continues. “Do you remember that? After you got out of the hospital, after your dad ran you down.”  
   
“Don’t do that.”  
   
“I’m not doing anything!” Luke yells. “You are! You said everyone leaves you! You begged me to be the one that stays. And now you’re the one leaving. Is that what this is? You think I’m gonna leave one day too, so you’re taking off first? That way I won’t get the chance to do it to you?”  
   
“No!” Michael stands. “No, that’s not it at all.”  
   
“You’re lying. I think that’s exactly what it is.” Luke shakes his head. “Except I was never going to. I wasn’t going anywhere, Michael. So don’t trick yourself into thinking you’re doing me a favor, ending this so I won’t have to. I never would have. This is just you leaving me.”  
   
“I don’t trust myself.” Michael’s voice is rough and his eyes are so red. They would have matched his hair, if it was still crimson like it was when Luke fell in love with him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”  
   
“You never would!”  
   
“I might. He loved me, and he hurt me. And I’m him, inside.”  
   
“Your mom is in there too. Right? And you’re _her_ Michael. Calum’s always saying that. You’re just like her. She was kind and loving and good and you’re all those things too. You’re not him.”  
   
“Not yet. But he wasn’t always like that either. When I was little he was good too. Then he turned. What if I turn?”  
   
“You’re talking about this like you’ve been bitten by a fucking werewolf and you’re just waiting until you start growing fangs! You have a _choice_! You would never hurt me.”  
   
“I can’t take that chance.”  
   
“So do it, then,” Luke dares.  
   
“Do what?”  
   
“Hit me.”  
   
Michael just stares at him.  
   
Luke gets mad, and shoves him, hard. Michael stumbles back into the wall behind him.  
   
“What the fuck, Luke?”  
   
“Hit me, if you think you can!” Luke shouts. “That’s why you’re doing this, right? Because you think you’re gonna snap one day and start abusing me? So go ahead! Prove to yourself that you’re right, so you have an actual reason to leave instead of a dumb hypothetical! Hit me!”  
   
“No,” Michael says quietly.  
   
Luke inhales, and exhales, and the breath comes in shockwaves both ways. His chest heaves and his jaw trembles. He just looks at Michael, desperate for anything solid to cling to, but instead it begins to sink in. This is real. Michael isn’t backing down.  
   
“So. That’s it, then?” Luke asks. Tears spill down his cheeks. His hands are shaking so he balls them into fists. “We’re just done? You’re actually ending it?”  
   
“I have to,” Michael whispers, but it’s the last thing in the world Luke wants to hear.  
   
“No, you don’t. I can’t make you wanna be with me but don’t you _dare_ let yourself off the hook with _I have to_ , like you’re saving me. Like you’re a knight in shining fucking armour, like this is supposed to be for my own good. If you’re gonna do this then I wanna hear you say it. Tell me you’re ending us. Feel the full fucking weight of the decision _you_ are making. Don’t hide behind _I have to_. Because you don’t.”  
   
Michael presses his lips together and shakes his head, and Luke thinks just for a moment, _maybe_ , it won’t really happen. Maybe Michael will change his mind, maybe they’ll cry and kiss and Luke’s world won’t get ripped out from under him. It’s tiny but it’s a glimmer of hope, that just makes it hurt more when Michael’s lips part and he says, “I’m ending it.”  
   
Luke nods. He doesn’t feel it anymore, suddenly. He’s numb.  
   
“I’m sorry,” Michael murmurs. He lifts a hand and reaches out, but Luke twitches and moves away before Michael’s fingers can make contact with his arm.  
   
“Don’t,” he breathes. “You don’t get to touch me anymore.”  
   
“Okay.” Michael runs his hands through his hair. Wordlessly, he moves around the room and gathers his things. Luke doesn’t move. He sees, out of the corner of his eye, Michael pull his coat on and walk towards the door. He looks back, but Luke turns away. The knob clicks as the door opens, and then closes, and he’s gone and Luke is alone.  
   
His legs give out, and he’s on the floor, and nothing is okay.  
   
*           *           *


	21. eikosiena

Luke isn’t sure how long he sits there. It feels like a lifetime. It’s maybe only a few minutes. Maybe much longer. Time is meaningless. He cries until he’s out of tears, until he’s gasping and his chest is tight and his throat is raw. Then a fresh wave of tears comes from nowhere when he happens to glance down and notices the skin on his inner forearm. It occurs to him that’s where he was going to get Olympic rings tattooed, and wanted Michael to go with him. They were going to do it once they got back to Montreal – they even made an appoint with Michael’s tattoo artist. Luke’s going to have to remember to cancel it. He wanted the rings so he’d never forget this experience. Now, he doesn’t want to remember it. He would give anything to forget.  
   
There are soft footsteps, and someone’s arms picking him up off the floor. Luke tries to help, tries to make his legs work. He’s not sure he manages it. He’s sat on the edge of the bed, and the person is gone, and then they’re back with a warm, wet washcloth. It moves over Luke’s cheeks, wiping away the tears just so new ones can replace them on his damp skin. Luke wants more than anything for it to be Michael, for Michael to have realized he fucked up and come back and they can kiss and pretend it never happened. But it isn’t.  
   
“What happened?” Ashton’s voice quiet and gentle like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal.  
   
Luke can’t answer. His throat closes and the words won’t come.  
   
“We saw Michael,” Ashton continues. “Outside, we passed him on our way back. He looked horrible. He wouldn’t talk either so Calum went with him.”  
   
Luke just nods. He balls his hands into fists; fingernails digging painfully into his palms. His eyes are so swollen he can barely see.  
   
“Did you break up with him?” Ashton asks.  
   
“He broke up with me,” Luke breathes, and getting the words out is like trying to move a piece of furniture made of solid stone. He manages it, but it feels like dying as he does.  
   
Ashton makes a small noise, and then says, “Why?”  
   
Luke shakes his head. He can’t. Not now. Maybe not ever.  
   
“Okay. It’s okay,” Ashton soothes. His arms go around Luke, and Luke tries not to but he crumbles all over again.  
   
*           *           *  
   
He barely sleeps. Ashton sleeps with him, in one bed even though there are two in the room, and it’s on the tip of Luke’s tongue once or twice to say that Ashton doesn’t have to – or to no-homo the situation even though that’s never how their friendship has been – but he doesn’t have the strength to send Ashton away when he’s all Luke has left. He still tosses and turns all night long. If Ashton slept as badly as Luke did because of it, he never says.  
   
In a haze that won’t clear, Luke goes through the motions of meeting his team and warming up and watching game tapes and dressing and sitting down for one last pep talk from their coach. Looking around the room, Luke realizes after tonight, this team is over. He’ll see some of these guys again, on the ice in different colored jerseys to his own or at the NHL awards or other charity events, but he won’t be on the same team as them anymore. Yesterday, he would have been sad for it. Today, he’s run out of ways to be sad over anything. He’s exhausted, and numb.  
   
“Everything okay?” Blake asks, his voice low so no one else hears him.  
   
“Fine. Just nervous,” Luke lies.  
   
“We’ve got this, boys” Cam cuts in, from Luke’s other side.  
   
Someone else responds, so Luke doesn’t have to, and he fades away again. It’s the final game, his first and maybe only chance to walk away with an Olympic gold medal, and Luke doesn’t even feel it. It might as well be any other day.  
   
He plays horribly. Missed shots and bad passes and stupid mistakes that result in breakaways toward his team’s end. He doesn’t cost them any goals but he doesn’t get them any either. No one on the bench is happy with him. Blake is the only one who smiles at him sympathetically once or twice; he can tell something is wrong, even if he doesn’t know exactly what. Luke’s parents and his best friends are in the stands, and some of his friends are on the ice, and the whole world is watching and Luke just lets the moments drag by as the clock ticks and time runs closer to zero. A few times, he’s on the ice at the same time as Michael, and Luke despises himself for the sting of tears that prickles behind his eyes. He tells himself it’s just the cool, frozen air, but he knows the real reason. The crowd is deafening and his teammates are agitated and excitable and Luke feels like he’s somewhere far away. He feels like he’s watching it all from somewhere else, like a movie; like he’s left his body and is looking down on everything from some distant place where none of it can touch him.  
   
It’s a battle, that Luke is only half present for, but at the final buzzer, they’re short one goal. The Canadians scored with five minutes to go, and Luke’s team fought but didn’t manage to even it up before the clock ran down. The players in red jerseys jump and yell and flock to their end of the ice to pile on top of Carey. Luke’s team, in their blue and red and white, sit on their bench and sigh and swear softly and trade meaningless expressions of stoic disappointment. There’s a medal ceremony, and it carries on far too long and Luke can’t bring himself to even exist in the moment. He just wants to go home. He doesn’t care when someone places a silver medal around his neck. He doesn’t care when a few Canadians tell him ‘good game’ in the traditional handshake. He doesn’t care when the Canadian national anthem is played. He doesn’t care about any of it.  
   
Michael is on the other side of the ice, surrounded by exuberant teammates with gold medals around their necks, and he doesn’t look like he cares either.  
   
*           *           *  
   
“I don’t understand,” Liz is saying.  
   
Luke is in their room, saying goodbye. He flies home with his teammates this afternoon. His family doesn’t leave until the following day, and they call different countries home now, so he won’t see them again for a while. Maybe not until the summer. Part of Luke wants to get back to Montreal, to his real team and the city he knows and his own bed. A much bigger part wishes he was going back to Ohio with his family. His parents’ house is filled with childhood memories, pictures of Luke from school, the familiar smell of his mother’s cooking. His apartment in Montreal is filled with nothing but Michael, and Luke is dreading going back there. It isn’t going to feel like home anymore, once Michael removes all his belongings and himself and Luke is there alone. He’s never been alone. He lived with his family, and for one summer with a billet family in Minnesota when he went to a dry-land skills camp, and then with Ashton, and then with Michael. Luke spent his whole life on teams that became like second families. He’s always been surrounded by people. He doesn’t know how to be alone.  
   
“I don’t really either,” Luke says. His voice is flat; emotionless. He’s so drained. He’d like to sleep for a week, but their regular season schedule starts up again the day after Luke gets back to Montreal.  
   
“You’ve been together for three years, how is it just over?” Liz presses.  
   
“Honey,” Andy cuts in. “If he doesn’t want to talk about it, leave him be.”  
   
“No, I won’t!” Liz cries. “Michael is part of this family now, you can’t just be done with each other after so long! Just like that?”  
   
Luke chews at the inside of his cheek and shrugs listlessly. “I don’t know what you want me to say. He ended it. I can’t make him want to be with me.”  
   
“But _why_?”  
   
“Mom,” Jack tries, but she won’t let up.  
   
“It doesn’t matter,” Luke tells her.  
   
“It matters to me!”  
   
“It’s none of your business, okay?” Luke snaps, finally losing his temper.  
   
She looks hurt, and then he feels bad.  
   
“I have to go,” he says, sniffing and clenching his jaw because he will _not_ cry again.  
   
“Safe flight,” Jack says, hugging him. Ben hugs him too, and Luke holds on just a little bit longer than maybe he should and aches when he has to let go. He’s never needed his big brother more than he does just now, but he has a plane to catch.  
   
“We love you so much.” There are tears in Liz’s eyes and she hugs him, and Luke nods and doesn’t respond because he doesn’t know what to say.  
   
*           *           *  
   
The flight is long, but it drags on longer than it did on the way here. Two weeks ago, Luke was excited, and anxious in a good way, and looking forward to a new adventure. Now, he feels far too many things to distinguish one from the other but none of them are happy feelings. Being thirty thousand feet in the air for twenty hours is torture. Luke is cramped in the too-small seat, and the airplane food tastes like ashes and mush, and his ears hurt from the pressure, and he wants to scream and cry and punch a hole in a wall.  
   
Ashton and Calum were on stand-by at the airport, waiting for the next flight, and managed to snag two seats on Luke’s flight thanks to a couple of passengers who never showed up. Ashton trades seats with the elderly woman next to Luke so they can sit together. Luke doesn’t know where Michael and Carey and P.K. are sitting. He didn’t pay attention when they boarded. At the gate before they were called, Michael sat with Calum as far away from the rest of them as they could get.  
   
“Can you at least tell us what happened?” P.K. had asked, gentle but impatient.  
   
Luke had shaken his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over, so. Let’s just move on.”  
   
He’d caught the look that P.K. exchanged with Carey, and on top of the grief and the confusion and the uncertainly, Luke was embarrassed. Everyone is going to know. They’ll have to. Things will be different, now, in the locker room and on the ice and everything. Luke’s whole team knew he was with Michael, so now they’ll have to know it’s been undone. Luke can’t stomach the thought of facing them.  
   
“Did you guys talk about what you’ll do when you get back?” Ashton asks, turning his head toward Luke’s shoulder and speaking quietly so the stranger on his other side doesn’t hear.  
   
Luke puts his ear-buds down and quits flicking through the channels on the TV in the headrest of the seat in front of him. He couldn’t find anything he wanted to watch anyway. He tries to stretch his legs, but airplane seats have always been too small for his tall frame. “Not really. He just ended it, and left. We haven’t spoken since.”  
   
“But you live together. There has to be some kind of plan. Who’s going to keep the place, where will the other one go? What about your cat?”  
   
Luke hadn’t even considered Kellin until just then. It makes his eyes sting and his chest tighten. “I don’t know. We didn’t do any of that.”  
   
“Then he should be the one to leave. It’s only fair.”  
   
Luke agrees, but doesn’t say so.  
   
“I’m so sorry, Luke,” Ashton says softly.  
   
Luke blinks quickly and clenches his jaw again. It’s all he’s been doing lately. “Can we not do this right now? I’m sorry, I just … I can’t.”  
   
“Yeah. Of course. Sorry.”  
   
Ashton goes back to his book, looking remorseful even though he didn’t do anything wrong, and Luke wants to say that too, but again, he doesn’t.  
   
*           *           *  
   
After collecting their bags, Ashton and Luke make their way through returning customs and out into the main terminal. Carey and P.K. are right behind them, and Michael and Calum a little ways behind that. Luke isn’t expecting it, but Brendan is there, with a hand-written sign that says _WELCOME HOME OLYMPIC MEDALISTS_ in one hand, and a small cat carrier in the other.  
   
“Fuck,” Luke mutters, not sure whether he’s happy about it or not.  
   
“Dudes!” Brendan cries, hurrying towards them, with an enormous grin on his face. Whatever he was imagining of their reunion, Luke is sure it plays out very differently. He and Michael aren’t speaking, or even looking at each other if they can help it. Ashton isn’t speaking to Michael either – or to Calum; he told Luke he was pissed at Cal for blindly taking Michael’s side when Michael is the one who caused all of this. In retaliation, Calum stopped speaking to Ashton. Luke isn’t specifically _not_ speaking to Calum, but doesn’t really have anything to say to him, so by accident instead of design, they haven’t interacted since the break-up. And Carey and P.K. are stuck somewhere in the middle of it all, left to flounder without an explanation, to navigate between all their friends suddenly angry with each other and refusing to talk about it.  
   
“Did you seriously bring the cat?” Luke asks, half laughing, as he takes the carrier from Brendan and looks inside. “Hey, Kel.”  
   
Kellin’s responding meow sounds tiny in the cavernous terminal.  
   
Out of the corner of his eye, Luke sees Calum and Michael side-step around them all and head toward the exit without a word to anyone.  
   
“We should …” Carey gestures aimlessly, like he doesn’t know how to proceed, and then sighs, and says, “See you at practice, Gally.”  
   
He and P.K. leave as well, and Brendan stares after them with his eyebrows twisted and his mouth half open. “Um. Okay. What’s with them?”  
   
“It’s a long story,” Ashton tells him.  
   
“That doesn’t sound good.”  
   
“It isn’t.”  
   
“Thank you, for coming,” Luke says. It sounds so stupid to say, after the happy welcome Brendan had clearly been planning fizzled out before it even began, and Luke feels badly about it. “And for watching Kellin while we were gone.”  
   
“Yeah, it’s … no problem. He’s a cool little dude, he can come stay with Uncle Brendan any time, man.” Brendan still looks bewildered, and Luke is grateful for Ashton, because he doesn’t have the energy to explain things a fourth time.  
   
*           *           *  
   
When Luke finally gets home, he leaves his bags at the door and lets Kellin out of the carrier and takes him to the couch. He collapses onto it, but carefully, so he doesn’t hurt the black ball of fluff in his arms. Kellin is full grown but still so small. Instantly he’s purring, curling up with Luke and nudging Luke’s hands with his head so Luke will scratch behind his ears. Luke’s eyes close but he doesn’t sleep. His mind hasn’t stopped racing in days. He’s exhausted down to his bones but he still can’t sleep.  
   
The door opens, and Luke’s heart leaps into his throat, expecting it to be Michael. It’s Ashton instead, so Luke relaxes back onto the decorative pillow. Closing the door behind himself, Ashton comes into the room and sits on the end of the couch after Luke moves his feet to make room.  
   
“Michael’s not here, I guess?” Ashton asks.  
   
Luke shakes his head. “I assumed he was across the hall. With you guys.”  
   
“He isn’t. Cal said he offered Michael our couch to sleep on until he could figure things out, but Michael turned him down. He took off right after they left the airport. Cal doesn’t know where he went.”  
   
“A hotel or something, probably. He’s a grown man, he’ll be fine.” There’s salt in Luke’s words that he wishes wasn’t there.  
   
“You’re right.”  
   
“Do you need something?” Luke asks, a little too sharply, and then instantly regrets it. He exhales slowly and turns his face into the pillow. “I’m sorry. I’m really tired.”  
   
“I know.” Ashton reaches out and pats Luke’s hip. “Is it okay if I stay here with you? At least for a while?”  
   
“You don’t have to,” Luke mumbles. “I’m fine.”  
   
“No, you aren’t,” Ashton argues gently. “And neither am I, to be honest. I don’t wanna live with Cal right now.”  
   
“Don’t be mad at him. This isn’t his fault.”  
   
“I mean, I don’t wanna live with Cal knowing you’re over here all by yourself.”  
   
“It’s just across the hall.”  
   
“Even still.”  
   
“I’m fine,” Luke says again. They both know very well it’s a complete lie. Luke is about as far from fine as he’s ever been. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be anything like fine again.  
   
“Do this for me, okay? You know I’ll just worry if you don’t.” It’s part manipulation, and part giving Luke an escape. If he agrees to let Ashton stay on those terms, he doesn’t have to admit that he needs it.  
   
Luke nods. He doesn’t _want_ to need Ashton here, but he does need it, and he isn’t strong enough to turn his friend away.


	22. eikosidio

“Luke.”  
   
Looking up, Luke sees Calum, in the lobby of their building, with a garbage bag in one hand and a plastic blue recycling bin in the other. He tries to smile in greeting in a way that’s polite but doesn’t encourage conversation. Luke doesn’t feel like talking to anyone this morning.  
   
“Where are you going so early?” Calum asks.  
   
“For a jog,” Luke answers. “I, um. I don’t know, I just woke up early, didn’t feel like sitting around until practice later.”  
   
The truth is, he never went to sleep at all. He tried. It didn’t work. It’s been a week, and Luke hasn’t slept more than a few hours a night since they got back. Last night he lied awake staring at the ceiling until twenty minutes ago, when his hip started hurting from lying on it for too long and he needed to move. Ashton wasn’t awake yet, so Luke threw on his coat and shoes and slipped out. He thought running in the cool morning air would wake him up a little; otherwise he’ll be a zombie all day.  
   
Calum nods. “Okay. Uh. Enjoy, I guess.”  
   
Luke wants to ask why Calum is up so early. He wants to ask why the recycling bin in his hand is full of empty beer cans and two glass Smirnoff bottles. He wants to ask if Calum had a party, or if maybe someone just came over last night to drown his sorrows in alcohol and his best friend’s company. Luke doesn’t ask any of it. It’s probably better that he doesn’t know. Without another word, he heads out.  
   
It’s still pitch black out. This far north, in the dead of winter the sun doesn’t rise until well after nine in the morning and it sets in the late afternoon. Daylight hours are scarce, and since Luke spends a lot of his time indoors, in an arena, from November to March he mostly only sees the endless night. Right now, he doesn’t mind. The darkness hides him, from early morning commuters and others on the streets who might recognize him. It’s cold, but the sting of the air on his cheeks feels revitalizing.  
   
A week since they got back from South Korea, and Luke’s life has become a monotonous chain of just trying to make it to the next thing. Practice, and then team meetings, and then a game, and then interviews with the media, and then home to bed. Try to sleep, fail, drag himself exhausted and bruised out of bed, and begin again. Luke never lets himself exist for too long in any one moment. He carries on by looking ahead to whatever is next.  
   
He’s only seen Michael on the ice. He’s made eye contact a few times by accident, despite how hard he tries not to, and it’s hurt like knives on his skin when he does. They haven’t spoken. Luke has barely spoken to anyone, except Ashton. Their first game after the break, Luke played terribly. Michael and Calum and Ashton did too, and they all got in trouble for it the next day.  
   
They’d been called into Therrien’s office, where he’d demanded an explanation.  
   
“We’re just jet-lagged,” Calum had said, tensely.  
   
“ _You_ don’t get to use that as an excuse,” Therrien had pointed at Calum and then Ashton as he spoke. “You weren’t on any Olympic teams, you went as spectators. What you do on your time off is your business but you aren’t allowed to come back and play like shit after because you’re tired from your vacation. Second, you four aren’t the only ones who were there. Price and Subban came home on the same flight and their game isn’t suffering for it.”  
   
“We’ll be better next time,” Ashton promised.  
   
“Yes, you will,” Therrien had agreed, and it was a threat. “However that isn’t our issue at the moment. Something happened, and I would like to know what it is.”  
   
While Luke kept quiet and watched, Michael and Calum exchanged a look, and Ashton said, “It doesn’t matter. We won’t let it affect a game again.”  
   
“That’s not what I asked.”  
   
Sighing and rubbing his hands over his face, Calum had reluctantly said, “Michael and Luke broke up.”  
   
Their coach had looked back and forth between all of them with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips turned into a deep frown. “I am sorry to hear that,” he’d said carefully. “Now let’s never speak of it again. You are professional athletes, not the high school drama club. Your personal lives cannot affect your work in this way. Hemmings, Clifford, unless you want to be branded for the rest of your careers as the ones who proved it’s a bad idea to allow teammates to become romantically involved with each other, I suggest you sort yourselves out and don’t bring your problems onto the ice ever again.”  
   
Scowling, Michael had gotten up and abruptly left the room, and Calum had trailed after him.  
   
“They won’t,” Ashton had said, speaking for all four of them, and then he and Luke had left as well. Luke had been mortified, and angry, and sad, and too many other emotions to keep them all straight in his head.  
   
The sky is just beginning to turn dark blue as Luke starts to run, skidding on the ice a few times as he does but not slowing down. His heart starts racing, his blood pumping, and he focuses on the pounding of his feet on the pavement and keeping his breathing steady even as the cold air burns in his lungs. Then his shoelace comes undone, and he treads on it, and nearly trips, and when he bends down to retie it he finds it broken. He tries to keep going but his shoe won’t stay on, so in annoyance, he turns back. He’s only a few blocks away, so it takes him maybe five minutes to walk back to his place. The sun still isn’t up when he gets there; it won’t be for another hour at least.  
   
There are muffled noises on the other side of Luke’s door, and what sounds like the television, so as Luke opens it to let himself in, he announces, “My fucking shoelace broke.”  
   
It isn’t the T.V. It’s Calum and Michael, in the living room, turning to look up at Luke and pausing in the midst of packing things into cardboard boxes.  
   
Ashton comes out of the kitchen. “Oh,” he says, when he sees Luke. “You’re back.”  
   
“My shoelace broke,” Luke repeats, not taking his eyes off Michael. He can’t. He’s been avoiding eye contact for eight days, and now that Michael is _here_ , in the place where up until a week ago they lived together, suddenly Luke can’t look away. His hair is different. It’s shorter than Luke’s ever seen it; all the faded blue has been cut out and all that’s left is his natural light brown. Without some wild, outlandish color, he barely looks like Michael. He could be anyone. Any random, average person Luke could walk past on the street and not look twice at. He looks thin, too. Like he hasn’t been eating. His cheeks are hollow and his eyes are circled by dark purple shadows. A tiny piece of Luke feels a little vindicated; that at least Michael isn’t sleeping either. A much bigger part feels horrible for wanting Michael to be unhappy.  
   
“Sorry,” Calum mutters awkwardly. “I thought you’d be gone a lot longer.”  
   
Luke doesn’t respond, but finally manages to tear his eyes away from Michael. He turns to Ashton instead. “You could’ve told me. This place is full of his stuff, it’s not like I was expecting he’d never come to get it.”  
   
“I didn’t know they were coming. It wasn’t a plan, Luke, Cal just knocked on the door after you left and asked if they could come in while you were gone.”  
   
“Did you think I was gonna say no if you asked _me_?” Luke asks Calum. The thought hurts him. He thought Calum was his friend too.  
   
“No, I …” Calum sighs. “I just thought it would be less uncomfortable for everyone if we could be in and out before you got back. Then we wouldn’t have to do …” he gestures between them. “This. Exactly what’s happening right now, this is what I was trying to avoid.”  
   
“You should keep Kellin,” Michael says. It’s the first time Luke’s heard him speak since they got back to Montreal. The cat in question is rubbing himself on Michael’s ankle.  
   
“He’s yours,” Luke points out. “Technically.”  
   
“This is his home,” Michael says, with a half-shrug. “I don’t wanna take him away from it. Unless you don’t want him here.”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “I want him here.”  
   
“Let’s go for breakfast or something,” Ashton says to Luke. His eyes are pleading – pleading Luke not to make a scene. Luke wasn’t planning on it anyway, and is offended by the unspoken insinuation.  
   
“It’s fine.” Luke bends down to pull his sneakers off. “I have to re-lace these, I have an extra pair of laces in my room. I’ll just … let me know when they’re finished.”  
   
Luke thinks he hears Michael softly call his name, but it’s probably wishful thinking, and either way Luke keeps walking toward his room and pretends he didn’t hear. He tosses his shoes to the corner and lies down on his bed, crossing his arms over his face to block out the light. The door opens and closes after a minute, and Ashton joins him.  
   
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “This was stupid, I should’ve told them to wait until you were back. We shouldn’t have gone behind your back.”  
   
“Doesn’t matter,” Luke mumbles. It does matter, but saying so wouldn’t fix anything.  
   
His phone buzzes on his bedside table where he’d left it, and Luke lifts his head to see it and then groans and drops his head back down onto the mattress.  
   
“It’s seven-thirty in the damn morning,” he grumbles.  
   
It’s his mom. She’s been calling non-stop this week, and Luke can’t handle it. He has nothing new to tell her, he doesn’t want to talk about it, and her sympathy just makes him feel like crying all the time.  
   
Ashton reaches for it, and swipes to take the call. “Hi, Liz.”  
   
Luke asked her nicely three times to stop calling so often, and when she didn’t listen, he stopped answering. Then Ashton started answering; intercepting her calls so that she won’t leave long, sad voicemail messages that Luke will have to listen to later.  
   
“He’s in the shower,” Ashton lies. “I’ll tell him you called.”  
   
Luke can hear a hint of her voice on the other line, but not enough to know what she’s saying. It’s just as well.  
   
“He’s getting through. Yes, I’m taking care of him. You’re welcome.”  
   
Ashton’s head turns to look at Luke, so Luke looks away.  
   
“I know, me too. Yeah. I’ll make sure he calls you back this time. Okay. Bye.” Ashton hangs up and tosses the phone onto Luke’s stomach, where it lands with a hollow thump. “Call your mother.”  
   
“I can’t,” Luke whispers.  
   
“Text her, then. She’s worried.”  
   
Luke rolls onto his side, facing the wall. “Can you just let me know when they’re gone?”  
   
“I can stay here with you, until they are,” Ashton offers.  
   
Luke shakes his head. “I’d rather be alone. Thanks, though.”  
   
Ashton exhales, and pats Luke’s leg, and his weight lifts off the mattress and he’s gone. Luke drags the messy blankets over himself, and burrows into the pillows.  
   
*           *           *  
   
Running perpetual cycle drills and sprints for an hour wears Luke out more than it would have before. Another week has dragged past and he still isn’t sleeping well, tossing and turning a lot more than he ever used to and reaching across the bed in moments of restlessness for something that isn’t there anymore. In the middle of the night, when Luke isn’t fully awake, he forgets. He forgets he’s alone. Then he remembers, when his arm stretches out and his fingers come up empty, and it’s like going up a staircase in the dark and missing a step. It jolts him awake and washes him over with sickly cold sweat and then it takes him hours to fall back into a fitful sleep.  
   
On the ice, Luke finds some semblance of peace. He doesn’t have to think about anything else, here. He can just let himself fade into the stinging cool and the scrape of skate blades and the familiar, comforting smell of frozen air and Zamboni fluid and rubber mats. A rink has been his home for such a long time. When he was growing up, his family moved around a lot, usually because of Luke, so he could attend the best hockey schools and play on the best teams. As a consequence, the rink was a constant in Luke’s life. This one is so much bigger than the ones Luke used to play on, but he’s been in Montreal for three years now and the ice at the Bell Centre still feels like where he belongs; even if losing Michael has tarnished that feeling a little. Luke tries not to think about it, at least when he’s on the ice. This one place shouldn’t be tainted by everything that’s gone wrong.  
   
When their coach ends the practice, Luke manages to avoid his chatting teammates. He changes from his gear into basketball shorts and an old t-shirt and sneakers, and escapes to the gym at the end of the hallway. He closes the door behind him. It doesn’t lock, but hopefully no one else is going to feel like working out directly after a morning practice, especially since they have a game tonight. Luke pops his ear-buds in and sets Spotify to a playlist full of upbeat dance music. He hates this kind of music, but what he used to listen to is tarnished by Michael as well. He downloaded the latest Justin Timberlake album last night, and he doesn’t like it at all but at least it sounds nothing like everything Luke is trying to forget. Tapping the upward facing arrow on the treadmill until the speed is as fast as Luke can manage, he starts to run as club beats bump in his ears.  
   
He runs until he feels like puking, and then he makes himself stop because he’s low on energy lately as it is and if he keeps playing as badly as he has been, he’ll get in more trouble. Breathing heavily, the rush of endorphins making his head spin in a way that’s both good and bad at the same time, Luke turns the machine off and hunches over, leaning on the console and panting. He lifts the bottom of his shirt up to wipe the dripping sweat off his face, and pulls the small white speakers out of his ears. He coughs, and struggles for a minute to regulate his breathing.  
   
“Are you done?” a voice asks.  
   
Luke jumps, his heat leaping into his throat, and turns around. Brendan is leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his bare chest and grey sweats sitting low on his hips, and he’s looking at Luke with his eyebrows knitted together.  
   
“Fuck.” Luke exhales. “You scared me.”  
   
“Sorry.”  
   
“How long were you standing there?”  
   
Brendan sucks the inside of his left cheek between his molars and chews at it for a moment before answering. “Long enough.”  
   
Luke frowns. “Long enough for what?”  
   
“Are you finished?” Brendan asks again. “We’ve got a game tonight, you’re not planning on lifting, right?”  
   
Luke wasn’t planning on it, but the look on Brendan’s face says that better be his answer. “No. I’m done.”  
   
“Go shower.” Brendan nods his head in the direction of the locker room. “I’ll wait. Then let’s go get some coffee.”  
   
Luke looks out the open doorway, and he doesn’t need to say what he’s thinking.  
   
“Everyone else is gone,” Brendan confirms. “Even Ash. He wanted to stay but I sent him home.”  
   
“Why? Did he want to stay, I mean?” Luke asks, but he already knows the answer.  
   
Brendan fixes him with a look that says he knows Luke already knows. There’s something else in his face, though. He looks sad. It makes Luke want to yell, or maybe move to Guam and never see another living soul ever again.  
   
“I’m okay,” Luke says. It’s feeble, and unconvincing, and neither of them believe it.  
   
“Just go shower, alright?” Brendan says again. “Hurry up, they’ve got these ginger molasses cookies at Starbucks that are amazing and I think we’ve earned one.”  
   
Luke wants to protest. He doesn’t want to go to Starbucks with Brendan and eat a cookie and drink coffee and talk about his feelings, like he’s living in a Nicholas Sparks novel. But he understands he isn’t being given much of a choice, and he’s too tired to argue. He showers quickly, and leaves everything but his wallet and coat in the locker room since he’ll be back here in just a few hours. Brendan is waiting for him, bundled in a woollen Denver Broncos cap and his blue ski jacket. They walk in silence, the half-melting snow sticking to their boots because it’s warm today. The sidewalks are slippery, the ice on them softened in the afternoon sunshine. There are several Starbucks within walking distance of the arena, and Luke doesn’t speak up but there is one he’s been to a few times with Michael and he silently hopes Brendan doesn’t lead them in that direction. When Brendan turns the other way down the street, Luke breathes a sigh of relief.  
   
“What do you want?” Brendan asks, as he pulls the door open and holds it for Luke. Their breath turns to clouds as the temperature changes, and Luke’s cheeks flush in the warmth of inside air.  
   
Luke rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to buy me coffee. This isn’t a date.”  
   
“Just for that, I’m getting you what I’m getting me, which is full of sugar and caramel syrup and whipped cream, and you’re just gonna have to deal with it,” Brendan tells him. He’s exaggerating his annoyance, but not completely. He points at a table in the back, tucked away from the rest of the place and with no one sitting around it. “Go sit down.”  
   
Luke listens. He waits, glancing nervously around the shop and hoping to not be recognized. There aren’t many other customers, and they’re buried in their conversations or their books. Brendan sets a mug down in front of Luke, as promised with whipped cream floating on the top of it, drizzled in toffee colored syrup and chocolate shavings. He’s carrying a paper bag between his teeth, and he drops it unceremoniously down onto the table between them, and then pulls out the cookie and splits it in half. He hands the slightly bigger half to Luke.  
   
“Eat,” he commands. “Sugar helps.”  
   
“Helps what?” Luke asks warily, but he takes the cookie obediently and takes a bite, and Brendan’s right. It’s soft and chewy and tangy with molasses and Luke could easily get addicted to these.  
   
Brendan looks at him, squints his blue eyes like he’s trying to see through Luke. Ashton does that too. It always makes Luke uncomfortable, because he worries he’s far too easy to see through. He’s never been any good at being stoic.  
   
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Brendan says finally. He takes a sip of his drink, and wipes away the whipped cream moustache it leaves with the back of his palm.  
   
“Do what?”  
   
“If it’s part of your process or whatever, pretending you’re okay when you aren’t, then yeah I guess do you. But you don’t have to do it for me, or anyone else.”  
   
“Oh.” Luke cringes and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. To have somewhere to look, he wraps his hands around the mug and stares into the caramel swirls.  
   
“This has gotta be shitty enough on its own, without you feeling like you have to put on some kind of show for everyone else.” Brendan takes another sip. “You aren’t fooling anyone, anyway.”  
   
Luke nods and keeps staring down at the table. His eyes burn and he clenches his jaw.  
   
“I didn’t … that came out meaner than I meant it to. I’m sorry,” Brendan says softly.  
   
Luke shakes his head. “It’s fine.”  
   
“You just shouldn’t have to pretend for us, if you don’t want to. That’s all I’m saying.”  
   
“Okay.”  
   
“Do you …” Brendan sighs. “I’m really shit at this.”  
   
Luke manages a small smile. “No, you aren’t.”  
   
“I know you’ve got Ash. But sometimes he’s … I don’t know. I thought maybe you could use a chat with someone who isn’t Mother Irwin. You’ve been like his pet bunny since you got here. You aren’t an 18 year old rookie on his own for the first time anymore, but I’m not sure he knows how to let you be a grown up.”  
   
“I don’t know where I’d be today without him,” Luke says, defending his friend, even though Brendan is right.  
   
“I get that.”  
   
“But yeah, he’s … well. He cares a lot.”  
   
“So, how are you doing?” Brendan asks. He likely already knows the answer.  
   
Luke takes a slow sip of his drink, and it’s good but it still hurts going down. His throat is tight. It feels like he hasn’t caught a deep enough breath since South Korea. “I don’t know,” he mumbles.  
   
“Not great, then.”  
   
Luke shakes his head. He blinks and refuses to let himself cry here.  
   
“Want me to kick his ass?” Brendan offers, joking to cheer Luke up.  
   
Smiling a little, Luke says, “It’s okay. It isn’t his fault.”  
   
“See, before you got here, I thought he was a dick. And then you made him nice for a while. Now? I’m not sure again. Maybe he is the asshole we all used to think he was.”  
   
Brendan is still mostly joking, but only mostly, and the part of him that’s serious makes Luke ache inside. The last thing in the world he wants to come of this is for the whole team to turn on Michael again. He may have caused this but he doesn’t deserve that.  
   
“Please don’t hate him,” Luke implores.  
   
“Maybe if we were allowed to know what went down, that would be easier.”  
   
“I can’t tell you.”  
   
“Did he do something?”  
   
“No.” Luke shakes his head. “Something just … happened. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. But it changed things.”  
   
“Did it have anything to do with the shit that happened to you? With the speed-skater?”  
   
“You know about that?” It hasn’t been mentioned since Luke got back, so he was never sure if the story had made it back to North America.  
   
“Everyone does. Like not just the team. It was headline news around here. The guys were pissed.”  
   
“No one has said anything.”  
   
Brendan shrugs. “After we found out you and Clifford broke up, we figured you didn’t need a bunch of people asking dumb questions.”  
   
“Did you guys have some kind of meeting or something? To decide how to handle us?” Luke asks. He’s being sarcastic, but then his stomach turns at the look on Brendan’s face.  
   
“We sort of had to,” Brendan says in his own defense. “There’s no rule book on this, man. You’re the first … you two are the first time two players on a team have ever dated each other, so this is also the first time two players have ever broken up but still been on the same team. If everyone got weird about it and started picking sides it would’ve broken down our whole team dynamic. We didn’t know what to do.”  
   
“For fuck’s sake,” Luke mutters, leaning over and resting his head on the crook of his elbow on the table. He isn’t mad at Brendan specifically, but he’s humiliated at the idea of his whole team sitting down to discuss his relationship – or, rather, his sudden lack of a relationship. “Were Cal and Ash there?”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
Luke sighs for what feels like the millionth time this week and lifts his head up. “Ash should’ve told me that.”  
   
“What would that have accomplished?”  
   
“What did he tell you?” Luke asks, dodging Brendan’s question with one of his own. “About what happened?”  
   
“Not much. That you broke up in Korea. That it was Clifford who ended it but neither of you would say why. A few guys said some shit about him, and that pissed Cal off, and he left. And then we all talked about … how we should try not to take sides, and stay out of it, and let you guys sort it out.”  
   
“But people are still mad at Michael.”  
   
“I don’t know about people.”  
   
“You, then.”  
   
Brendan shoves the rest of the cookie into his mouth in one huge bite, and around his mouthful, says, “You’re my bro, and he broke your heart, so yeah I’m mad at him. If it was the other way around, I’d be mad at you, too.”  
   
Luke is exasperated, but fondly. “Thanks, I guess. Just … don’t say anything to him, okay? I can’t tell you not to be pissed at him but leave him alone. He’s dealing with enough right now.”  
   
Brendan swallows, washes it down with another sip of his drink, and then fixes Luke with a funny look.  
   
“What?” Luke asks, self-consciously.  
   
“You aren’t pissed at him?”  
   
Luke presses his lips together and looks down, and then shakes his head. Emotion threatens to over-take his control again.  
   
“Why not?”  
   
“I …” Luke’s breath hitches. “Because I love him.”  
   
“So go get him back.”  
   
“It’s not that simple.”  
   
“It could be. C’mon, you two are … it can’t be finished, just like that. You weren’t just some fling that can end forever so easily. You two are the real deal.”  
   
Luke nods, and his chest tightens. “I thought so.”  
   
For a while, Brendan falls silent, and so Luke does too. He sips at the coffee, tasting caramel and maybe pumpkin, and tries to concentrate on the feeling of the warmth slipping down his throat. There’s a pair of girls on the other side of the shop looking in their direction and grinning at each other in a way that looks like they’re trying to watch them without being obvious, and failing. Now Luke definitely can’t break down here. It would get out, somehow, and he’d never hear the end of it.  
   
“This sorta feels like my parents are getting divorced,” Brendan jokes after a few moments, but he sounds sad.  
   
Luke laughs a little. He’s sad too.  
   
“I guess I can’t force you to go talk to him and try to work it out. Just seems a shame, though. You guys seemed like an always kind of couple.”  
   
“We were,” Luke agrees, in barely a whisper.  
   
“And now?”  
   
Luke balls his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms, and his voice shakes when he says, “I don’t know.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
By the time Luke gets home, he’s drained. There is nothing he wants more than to just curl up in his bed and turn off the light and exist in the darkness until tomorrow, but it’s less than an hour before he needs to be back at the rink. Until very recently, there was almost no problem that hockey couldn’t solve. No matter what Luke was going through, being on the ice would fix it. That’s gone now too. Luke supposes it’s fitting. Everything else is tainted, it only make sense that hockey is ruined by this as well.   
   
“I’m making a sandwich, want one?” Ashton asks, trying to be casual. Luke sees past it. He knows Ashton knows where he’s been.  
   
Luke collapses onto the couch without responding. Ashton bustles around the kitchen for a few minutes, and then joins Luke on the couch. He turns the T.V. on, and they sit without speaking for the duration of some sitcom Luke doesn’t recognize. He barely pays attention to the plot, but the noise is a decent distraction. When it ends and Ashton hits the mute button, the silence is deafening.  
   
“How’s Gally?”  
   
“Fine.”  
   
“Everything okay with you?” Ashton nudges Luke’s elbow with his own. He knows very well that nothing is okay.  
   
“I just …” Luke’s voice breaks and the words fall away. His head hangs, and he fights so hard to keep the tears back but it doesn’t work this time.  
   
“I know,” Ashton says quietly. His arm goes around Luke’s shoulder.  
   
“I love him so much, Ash. I don’t know what to do.” Luke’s words come out ragged and shaky, and Ashton wraps both arms around him. Luke spills into him, tears soaking through the fabric of Ashton’s t-shirt. After the first day, he’s managed to keep from fully breaking down again until now. He’s _felt_ like crying, nearly every minute of every day, but he’s held it in. Now, for whatever reason, he crumbles.  
   
*           *           *


	23. eikositria

“Room for milk?”  
   
“Yes, please.” Luke hands the girl a five dollar bill, and she hands him two dollars in change and coffee in a cardboard cup. He fixes it at the counter and then heads back towards his team.  
   
“Good luck tomorrow,” she calls after him, smiling shyly.  
   
Luke thanks her. He sips at the coffee while he walks, and finds P.K. browsing at a newsstand.  
   
“What are you reading?” he asks.  
   
“Another rally in Washington against Trump’s wall.” P.K. shakes his head. “The world is fucked up.”  
   
Luke nods. “We should head back. We’ll board soon.”  
   
“I am not looking forward to this one.” P.K. puts the newspaper back down and walks with Luke. “Montreal is bad enough in the dead of winter, Winnipeg is like hell frozen over.”  
   
“It isn’t exactly the _dead_ of winter,” Luke points out. “It’s almost April, it won’t be so bad. Plus, right after we’re heading to L.A., remember? So we’ll thaw out there.”  
   
They approach the gate, where the rest of their team waits to board the plane, and Ashton reaches out and takes Luke’s coffee from him as Luke sits next to him.  
   
“Thanks, I needed a pick-me-up.” Ashton sips from it, and then gives it back when Luke glares at him.  
   
“They’re still not sitting with us?” P.K. asks.  
   
Luke follows his eye-line, to across the hall where Michael and Calum are sitting together, fifty feet away from the rest of the team. They always do that, now. Ever since everything fell apart.  
   
“Guess not,” Luke answers. Maybe even worse than losing Michael, is the idea that Michael has lost his team as a result, and Calum, being the loyal friend that he is, has lost them too. Luke tries so hard not to let it bother him. He hasn’t yet succeeded.  
   
“It’s been a month, man.” P.K. rolls his eyes. “Like I know it’s awkward and shit but it’s been a _month_. They’re gonna have to get over themselves sooner or later, we’ve got playoffs coming up.”  
   
“It’s not as simple as that,” Ashton argues.  
   
“It should be,” Brendan pipes up. “Personal shit should stay at home. We’re a team and they’re screwing it all up.”  
   
“Leave it alone,” Ashton says shortly.  
   
Luke sips at his coffee again, and then tips his head back to rest against the top of the seat. He can’t tell anyone to stop talking about it. The whole thing has affected them too, just like Luke was scared it would but knew it would at the same time. But he wishes they would just shut up. He’s been trying to erase the last three years of his life from his memory and it isn’t easy to do when no one will let him try.  
   
Three hours later they’re in Winnipeg, and the snow is wet and sticky like when it begins to melt in early spring, but the wind is cold and fierce. Luke keeps his earbuds in on the bus to the hotel so he doesn’t have to talk to anybody, and ignores texts from his mother asking if his flight landed safely. He’s been on four airplanes a week for years now and she still keeps track of his schedule and checks in to make sure he’s safe. Lately, it’s been a lot more than usual, and a lot more than just when she knows he’s getting off a plane. A week ago he finally snapped and told her to stop calling. So now she texts. Then Ben called, and yelled at Luke for making their mother cry, so Luke stopped answering him as well.  
   
It’s late, so Luke tosses his bag onto the floor in front of the bed by the window and unzips it to rummage around for something to sleep in.  
   
“Wanna watch a movie or something?” Ashton asks.  
   
“I think I’m just gonna sleep,” Luke answers, without looking up. “You can, though. I’ve got earplugs.”  
   
Ashton says something else, but Luke only half listens and doesn’t respond. He changes, pushes soft orange plugs into his ears and pulls a sleeping mask over his eyes, and crawls into the bed, sinking gratefully into the soft mattress and smooth sheets. If Ashton does watch something on the television, Luke doesn’t hear it.  
   
*           *           *  
   
“Hey, stranger.”  
   
Luke looks up past the navy jersey with a grey and red Winnipeg Jets logo on it, into blue eyes that crinkle at the edges, and smiles. “Hey, man.” He greets his Olympic roommate with a handshake and a manly clap on the shoulder.  
   
“How’ve you been?”  
   
Luke shrugs, and tries to be casual. “Alright. You?”  
   
“Good.” Blake nods, and looks around. “Ready to have your ass kicked?”  
   
Luke manages to laugh, and it feels good. “Your goalie’s been on a hot-streak lately.”  
   
“Yeah, and our star rookie is leading the league in scoring,” Blake brags, but jokingly.  
   
“That’s because you finished so close to last, last year,” Luke reminds him. “Got a top draft pick because of how much you sucked.”  
   
Blake clutches his chest and pretends to be wounded. “That hurts, man. I mean it’s true, but it hurts coming from you.”  
   
Luke laughs again. He glances across the ice, to where the two teams are warming up at opposite ends, and catches a number of eyes aimed in their direction. His teammates are supposed to be firing pucks at Carey, to warm up their own arms and his catching glove, but instead three or four of them are staring. “We’re getting the stink-eye.”  
   
Blake shrugs. “Let them. This isn’t fraternizing with the enemy. It’s old teammates catching up. I’ll still drill you into the boards later if I get the chance.”  
   
“Likewise.” Luke grins. “Although, you’ll have to catch me to do that.”  
   
Blake chuckles, and shakes his head. He pushes the hair back off his face, sweaty already even though they just started skating.  
   
“So, uh. There’s no good way to do this, probably, but I heard about what happened.” Blake winces. “That you and Clifford are done.”  
   
Luke chews at the inside of his cheek. “Yeah.”  
   
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Blake says, and he sounds sincere. “You seemed happy together, the few times I was around you.”  
   
Luke nods. He should be used to this moment by now. It’s happened over and over for weeks, every time he’s run into someone he hasn’t seen since the break-up. It isn’t getting easier, though.  
   
“I always thought … you two were really brave, you know? I mean we’ve all known a guy or two who was in the closet in this league. You guys were brave to be out. I bet you were inspiring to kids, on their high school teams and stuff, who still felt like they weren’t safe to be themselves.”  
   
“Thanks,” Luke says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.  
   
“I mean, not that … it’s not like you’re _not_ an inspiration now that you aren’t together anymore.” Blake sighs. “Sorry. That didn’t come out like I wanted it to.”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “It’s okay. I know what you meant.”  
   
The buzzer sounds, indicating warm-up is over, and Blake pats Luke’s back in a friendly way and wishes him luck in the game, and they part. Luke skates back to his own bench.  
   
Max raises an eyebrow at him as he approaches. “Enjoy your tea party?”  
   
“We were roommates in Korea.” Luke rolls his eyes. “Don’t start, okay?”  
   
“I didn’t say anything,” Max protests, raising his palms up in surrender.  
   
“Yeah, you did,” Luke retorts, and then climbs over the boards and makes his way to the dressing room, leaving his teammate alone on the ice.  
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke is alone in the media room. He’s watching a tape of the game from last night. They all watched bits of it, earlier when the whole team met in here. Reviewing brilliant moments and mistakes; the coaching staff pointing out areas they need to improve next time. It’s the routine. They do it after every game. Luke doesn’t usually stay after everyone else has left, though, and re-watch it. Today, he’s doing just that. He didn’t play very well. He knew that last night while he was living it, and it’s even more obvious now, to watch himself on the screen. He just floats around on the ice looking listless, like he isn’t even trying. Luke remembers _feeling_ like he was trying, at the time, but to watch it back now he clearly was off in another world. Or trapped in his head. Or both. He has to be better, next time. Hockey is what he has left, now. Everything else is broken. So he has to be better.   
   
On the screen, the final buzzer sounds. Luke has watched the video three times now. Not all of it, he fast-forwards through the parts where he isn’t on the ice, but he’s watched himself skate around – too slow and passionless as if he’d forgotten where he is – from start to finish, three times. There isn’t anything more he can get out of it. Watching it again wouldn’t accomplish anything. Luke hits the replay button on the remote anyway. It’s not like he has anything better to do. He can’t go home. Ashton is there, and he’s finally starting to respect the fact that Luke doesn’t want to talk but he still looks at Luke with sympathy in his eyes and Luke can’t stand it. And Calum is just across the hall. And Luke hasn’t washed his sheets yet, so his bed smells like Michael. There was a blue toothbrush in the bathroom for weeks and when Ashton realized it was Michael’s, he threw it away. Luke picked it out of the garbage can when Ashton wasn’t looking. Now it’s sitting in the drawer of his night stand. He can’t get rid of it, Michael might come back one day. Except he probably won’t, and Luke is pathetic, and the whole thing is an utter disaster.   
   
Luke’s been thinking, the last few days, of asking his agent to look into getting him traded. It isn’t as easy as just wanting to go somewhere else, Luke knows that. His team might not want to give him up, and he’s under contact for another two years. He can’t just refuse to play in Montreal. He could still ask, though. Luke knows he’s a good player; another team might want him. If the Canadiens could get a higher draft pick for him, they might consider it. It’s probably a long-shot but it’s at the very least a possibility. Luke doesn’t care where he would go, just anywhere but here. Anywhere away from Michael, and his green eyes and his pale skin and the ghost of memories every time Luke imagines lips against his or fingers on his back.  
   
“Oh.”

Luke looks up. Calum is in the doorway, his hand hovering over the light-switch just inside the room, like he was about to shut it off and then realized the room wasn’t empty like he thought.   
   
“I didn’t think anyone was still here.”  
   
It isn’t really a question. Luke doesn’t know how to respond so he shrugs and tries to grin awkwardly. It probably comes off more like a grimace. It’s hard to smile, these days. Luke can do it, but it feels like work.  
   
“What are you doing?” Calum asks.  
   
Luke gestures at the game footage on the flat-screen.   
   
“Oh,” Calum says again. “Okay. Have fun, I guess.”  
   
He leaves, and Luke turns his attention back to the screen, and then Calum’s voice calls his attention back.  
   
“Mikey is with me, we were in the gym. Otherwise … I’d offer you a ride home.” He looks apologetic, and guilty. He’s barely spoken to Luke in a month, since they got back from Korea.  
   
Luke has been so stupid all these years to have never bought a car of his own. He has more than enough money, now. He just hasn’t needed one, between Ashton and Michael and Calum there was nearly always someone else also going to wherever Luke was going, so it was never a problem that needed addressing. Suddenly it is, because two of the three people Luke could always count on for rides are no longer speaking to him.   
   
“It’s okay,” Luke says, finally finding his voice and rendering the conversation two-sided. “I’ll walk.”  
   
“It’s cold,” Calum says with a wince.  
   
Luke shrugs again. It _is_ cold, but Calum isn’t offering him a solution to that problem, so Luke doesn’t know what he wants.  
   
“Want me to call Ash? He’d come get you.”  
   
“I’m not six years old, I can get home by myself. You better go, before Michael catches you talking to me.” It comes out meaner than Luke meant it to. Maybe he’s more bitter than he thought.  
   
Calum’s face clouds over, but he doesn’t look angry. Just upset. “It’s not like that.”  
   
“It seems like that. We used to be friends.”  
   
“We still are.”  
   
“If you say so.” Luke looks back to the screen, but he puts the video on pause. He isn’t watching anymore, and the noise hurts his head.  
   
“He’s my best friend,” Calum says softly. “Has been forever.”  
   
“I know that,” Luke answers, still staring at the frozen screen. “But he broke up with me. I didn’t do anything wrong.”  
   
“He still won’t tell me why.”  
   
“I guess he doesn’t want you to know.”  
   
“I’m not taking his side, alright? Luke,” Calum implores.  
   
Luke looks at him. He doesn’t believe it.  
   
“I’m not. I’m not taking anyone’s side. How could I, when I don’t even know what the sides are? I just … he’s my best friend. I have to be _on_ his side. That’s how it works. Just like Ashton is on yours, even though neither of us know what happened.”  
   
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Luke mumbles.  
   
“Then why did you ask for one?”  
   
“I didn’t.”  
   
“I …” Calum’s sentence falls away, and his arms flop down to his side. He’s frustrated, and at a loss for how best to proceed. Luke is too. “Okay. I guess … I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
   
Luke nods, and then he’s alone again. He stares at the paused game on the screen, the brilliant white of the ice hurting his eyes like looking at the sun for too long. Carey is just about to make a spectacular save. Luke remembers that moment. He wasn’t on the ice for it, so he had a great view from the bench. It should have fired him up, like it did the rest of his team. But it didn’t.  
   
A moment later, there are voices and footsteps in the hall. Luke catches the tail end of what sounds like Michael’s voice, asking, “What did I do?”  
   
“Let’s just go,” Calum mutters in response.   
   
Luke gets up and goes to the door. Calum is long gone by the time he gets there, storming off toward the exit, and Michael is standing halfway down the hallway watching him. He turns when he hears Luke, sending a confused expression in Luke’s direction that morphs into something else when their eyes meet.  
   
“Did you say something to him?” Michael asks accusingly.   
   
Luke glares at him. “I didn’t do anything. Take some responsibility for your own damn actions.”  
   
He reaches for his bag, where he’d dropped it just next to the door earlier, slings it over his shoulder and storms off in the other direction. Michael half-heartedly calls his name, but Luke doesn’t stop. He has no interest in hearing whatever Michael might have to say. He leaves Michael, alone in the dark hall, to watch the two most important people in his life walk away from him and not look back.  
   
Or, at least, he and Calum _used_ to be the two most important people in Michael’s life. Luke’s not sure he qualifies for that title anymore.  
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke looks up at a knock on the door. It’s their first Saturday night off in weeks, and he’s sitting at home on his couch because he has nothing better to do. Ashton is here with him, but that doesn’t make Luke feel any less like a loser because Ashton has never been much of a partier. He prefers being at home, so he might be here anyway even if there was something more exciting going on.  
   
Ashton gets up to answer the door, and there is another bang and a male voice calling, “C’mon, off your ass Irwin!”  
   
Brendan bursts into the room when Ashton lets him, with a wild grin on his face and his cheeks flushed. “Up and at ‘em, boys. We’re going out.”  
   
“Where?” Ashton asks.  
   
“Anywhere. A bar, a club, an illegal underground cock-fighting ring, I don’t care. Just somewhere, anywhere there is alcohol and music and a chance you two might pull your heads out of your asses for an evening.”  
   
Luke ignores them both, and turns the T.V. up.  
   
“I swear to everything that is holy, if you don’t come out with me, we aren’t friends anymore,” Brendan threatens.  
   
“I’m tired,” Luke replies, knowing full well he won’t get out of this so easily.  
   
“I don’t care.” Brendan marches over, snatches the remote from Luke’s hand, and powers the T.V. off.  
   
“Leave him alone,” Ashton says.  
   
“I’ve _been_ leaving him alone,” Brendan argues. “We all have. Look, Luke. I get it, okay? We’ve all been through a shitty break-up, I understand the urge to sit at home in your underwear and watch Jeopardy until your eyes melt out of your head.”  
   
“I’m wearing pants!” Luke protests.  
   
“It’s been over a month,” Brendan says, a little kinder now. “I know this sucks. But someone has to pull you out of this funk you’re in. It sucks but he isn’t coming back. You and Michael, you’re finished. And hiding from the world isn’t going to help you get over him.”  
   
Luke doesn’t want to get over Michael. They didn’t break up because they hate each other, they broke up still being very much in love. There’s always a chance Michael will get his head on straight and everything could go back to being just like it was before. That tiny, wispy bit of hope is all that’s been holding Luke together these past few weeks. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive without it. If he has nothing left of Michael to hold on to, Luke doesn’t know how he’ll keep going.  
   
“He’s probably right,” Ashton says gently.  
   
Luke groans and leans over, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know. Look, I know, okay? I know he’s right, I know I should be moving on and meeting someone else and all that stuff I just …”  
   
Ashton sits, in the char opposite to Luke and Brendan on the couch. “When I broke up with Steph,” he says, “it felt like … if I even looked at another girl, or if she returned the stuff I left at her place, it would be like admitting it was really over. For good, forever. As long as I had that one string still connecting us, there was still a chance we might get back together.”  
   
“This is not what we should be doing,” Brendan cuts in. “This isn’t a therapy session, okay, and it isn’t the time for that anyway. I know you gotta talk things out sometimes but you two have had weeks to talk this out. Is there anything even left to say anymore?”  
   
“Nothing hurts more than hope,” Ashton adds, sort of ignoring Brendan and agreeing with him at the same time, “when you’re holding onto hope for something that won’t ever happen.”  
   
“It could,” Luke argues, in a small voice.  
   
“If it’s gonna happen, it’s gonna happen whether or not you come to a bar with me tonight.” Brendan shoves Luke’s shoulder in a friendly way. “The worst that could happen is you actually have some _fun_ for once.”  
   
“When was the last time you thought about something other than this for five minutes?” Ashton reasons. “Gally’s right, let’s get some booze in those veins. It would be good for you to forget for a night.”  
   
Luke still doesn’t want to go, but recognizes that he’s being ganged up on, and resisting further feels like it would take more effort than he has energy for.  
   
The club Brendan chooses is everything a club should be – noisy, bright lights, terrible music that’s reduced mostly to a thumping baseline, and full of young, beautiful people in tiny amounts of clothing – and everything Luke normally hates about places like this. He lets Brendan buy him a beer, and then he lets a group of guys who recognize them buy him three more, and then he throws back a shot of whiskey the female bartender gives him for free because they won their last home game and Luke scored the winning goal, and then a shot of vodka someone across the room asks the bartender to send to him, and then something else that Luke doesn’t have a name for but is orange and fruity and tastes so much like peaches it’s hard to tell whether there’s even alcohol in it. Luke’s head is swimming, and there is a dull, pleasant thrush pulsing through his veins, and everything is slowed down and a bit blurry like being in a really nice dream.  
   
There is a blond across the bar, with platinum curls that fall down her back and dark eyes that sparkle and breasts pushed up under her chin and nearly spilling out of a skin-tight top. She isn’t the type Luke would’ve ever gone for. He was always intimidated by girls like that, assuming they knew things he didn’t and would expect him to know them because he was a hockey player and they’re supposed to get around on the road, and then laugh at him when he proved a disappointment. In high school, he dated girls who were shy and unassuming, with kind smiles and manners his mother approved of. Because they were like him. Luke was shy, and unassuming, and polite to people’s parents. They were his speed. Now, he doesn’t know what his speed is. It’s been set to Michael for so long, Luke doesn’t know how to change it.  
   
She’s been smiling at him all night, though, and Luke is just drunk enough that it seems like a good idea, and that he’s nearly sure he won’t remember it enough in the morning to regret it if it isn’t.  
   
“I’m Luke,” he says, as he approaches. His words are just a bit slurred. Hopefully she won’t notice.  
   
“That’s your opening line?” she teases.  
   
“Why not?” Luke smiles and shrugs. “Gets right to the point, doesn’t it?”  
   
“I guess it does. I’m Amber.” She smiles at him and tosses her hair. It wafts some kind of flowery scent in Luke’s direction. “And I know who you are.”  
   
“Big hockey fan?”  
   
“Not that big. But everyone knows who you are.”  
   
“Because I’m a stud?” Luke jokes. In his head, the voice coming out of his mouth doesn’t sound like his own. Not even a bit. He tries to shove the thought away.  
   
“Sort of.” She laughs, but it sounds nervous this time. “Also because of … everything else.”  
   
Luke knows what she means, and it’s the exact thing he came here tonight to forget. “That’s over. Wanna dance?”  
   
“Aren’t you gay?” she asks, tilting her head inquisitively.  
   
“Not quite.” Luke winks at her and takes her hand, ending the conversation by leading her onto the dance floor.  
   
The repetitive beat from the subwoofers thumps uncomfortably in his chest, and the alcohol has him flushed and not seeing quite straight, and she feels good next to him. In another life, on another night, maybe she wouldn’t, but right now her hips fit in his hands and when she presses up against him, soft and small, with curves in places Michael didn’t have, Luke just feels free, and careless, and like nothing matters but this. They move together, electricity sparking between them, and it’s been so long since Luke felt any kind of connection with anyone, and since he’s felt a thigh pressing into his crotch where he’s not quite soft anymore in his jeans. He doesn’t know where Ashton and Brendan have gotten to, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything.  
   
When one song melts into another with only a slightly different beat, only a noticeable difference if Luke really pays attention, she tilts her head up and kisses him. It’s wet and instantly dirty, desperate, groping each other on the dance floor and it feels like flying.  
   
“Come with me,” she says against his mouth, grabbing his hand and pulling him away, toward the back of the club, out the fire door and into the alleyway behind.  
   
It’s cold, still snow on the ground in early April, but Luke is drunk so while he’s aware of the cool breeze on his cheeks, he’s numb to it. Amber pulls him around to the other side of a big blue dumpster so they won’t be seen if anyone comes out to smoke a cigarette, and pushes him against the bricks of the building. She kisses him again, and presses her body into his, and Luke’s hands roam her back and slip down the back of her jeans to feel her ass through thin, silky panties.  
   
“Don’t move,” she whispers seductively, kissing his neck and then sinking slowly to her knees.  
   
“Fuck,” Luke breathes, tangling his hands in her blond curls as she gets his pants open and without preamble lets his whole length slide into her mouth.  
   
Luke loses himself in it. The mix of her warm tongue and the cool air is intoxicating, and the alcohol in his bloodstream makes everything sparkly and bright and sharp. Her hair is soft in his hands, and the bleached blond shines in the light from the streetlamps. Michael’s had his hair platinum like this a few times. Luke shakes his head to knock the thought loose.  
   
“Wait ‘till I tell my friends I sucked an NHL player’s dick,” Amber giggles, popping off Luke just long enough to say it and then going back in.  
   
Luke should probably ask her not to tell anyone, but she moves forward and lets him slip into her throat and he loses the ability to say anything. His head falls back with a painful thunk against the bricks, as his cock is surrounded in tight and warm. Luke never asks for this, because it feels rude, but Michael does it sometimes on his own and Luke loves it. He did it the last time they were together, in Korea before everything fell apart.  
   
The thought hits Luke harder than a blocked slap-shot right to the forehead.  
   
“Fuck,” he says again, totally different this time to the first.  
   
“Don’t come yet,” she rasps, stroking him swiftly and dragging her tongue over his abdomen.  
   
“Don’t.” He can’t get his head on straight enough to stop this from happening, but he needs it to stop. He needs to rewind the earth thirty minutes and keep this from ever happening in the first place.  
   
“You got a condom?” she asks.  
   
“Stop,” Luke mumbles.  
   
“Stop what?” She grins up at him, her lips shiny and red. “You’re gonna like this, I promise.”  
   
“ _Stop_ ,” he repeats, louder, and tries to move away.  
   
Her face changes, when she realizes he’s being serious. “Oh.”  
   
“I’m sorry. I can’t,” Luke breathes. He can’t look at her, and he wants so badly to get his jeans back up. He’s so bare like this, vulnerable with a stranger in an alley, and he hates it. He hates Brendan for making him come here, he hates Michael for breaking them, and most of all he hates himself. So strongly it burns in his throat like acid.  
   
For a moment, she doesn’t move. She just stares up at him; Luke can feel her eyes boring through his skull even though he’s looking the other way. Then she wipes he mouth with the back of her hand, and stands. She fixes her hair, and tugs at her clothing to undo where Luke tugged it out of place. Feebly, Luke tucks himself back into his jeans and does them back up.  
   
“Okay,” she says eventually. “I, um. I’m gonna go back in.”  
   
“I’m sorry,” he says again. He still can’t look at her.  
   
“It’s alright,” she says quietly. “I won’t … tell anymore.”  
   
“Thanks,” Luke mutters. He’s not sure he would mind if she did. He thinks he deserves the humiliation.  
   
After she’s gone, and the heavy door has swung closed behind her, Luke holds onto the edge of the dumpster and pukes the contents of his stomach into it. He probably can’t blame it entirely on the alcohol, but he will, if anyone asks. He coughs, and spits a few times to get the taste of beer and stomach acid out of his mouth, and then stumbles down to sit on the ground, with his back against the wall and his face buried in his knees. Tears burn at the corners of his eyes, and he blinks them away.  
   
The door re-opens, and Luke tries to get up but the quick movement makes him queasy again, and he falls back against the wall.  
   
“Luke?” It’s Ashton, kneeling down next to him, touching his arm. “What happened, why are you out here?”  
   
“Why are you?” Luke counters.  
   
“That girl came and found us. I didn’t know where you went, you were beside us and then I looked up and you were gone. She said you were out here, are you okay?”  
   
“I’m fine. Can we go home?”  
   
“How wasted are you?” Brendan’s voice asks.  
   
“I wanna go,” Luke repeats.  
   
“Yeah, we’ll go, but what happened?” Brendan pushes. “Did she stab you or something, why are you all curled up on the ground?”  
   
“She sucked my dick, are you happy now?” Luke says. “That’s what you wanted, right? This was your plan? To take me out and get me laid so I’d forget about Michael? Well it didn’t work, I feel worse now. So thanks, you’re a real friend.”  
   
“Wait a second, I said we should go out and have fun! I didn’t tell you to get a blowjob from a random in a dirty alleyway. And what the hell, man, I thought you were gay.”  
   
“I’m bisexual,” Luke grinds out, finally looking up at his friends. “Not that there’s a difference, to people like you.”  
   
“You never _told_ me that!” Brendan argues back, angrily defending himself.  
   
“You could have asked. Or not made assumptions.”  
   
“Luke, stop it,” Ashton intervenes.  
   
Brendan rolls his eyes, and mutters to himself, “Yeah, okay. You’re monogamous with a dude for three years and I’m the asshole for assuming that means you’re gay, when you never told me any different. Make me out to be a homophobe just because I’m not a fucking mind-reader.”  
   
“You wanna say that shit to my face?” Luke snaps.  
   
“No one is saying anything to anyone’s face!” Ashton yells. “Knock it off, both of you.”  
   
“How are you gonna fight me when you’re so drunk you can’t even stand up?” Brendan fires back, with a laugh.  
   
“I fucking mean it, Gallagher. Help me get him up.” Ashton hooks one arm under Luke’s elbow, and Brendan gets the other, and they haul Luke to his feet.  
   
“I can walk,” Luke complains, but he stumbles and leans on his friends.  
   
“Sure you can, big guy.” Brendan sounds sarcastic, but not like he’s angry anymore.  
   
Luke lets his friends pour him sloppily into a cab. It’s the last thing he remembers, until the next morning, when he wakes up feeling like an elephant is standing on his head and regret is burning a hole in his chest.  
   
*           *           *


	24. eikositessera

“Do you wanna talk about what happened last night?”  
   
Luke chews at his lip and pokes aimlessly at the bowl of cereal in front of him. He’s been staring at it for so long it’s turned to unappetizing mush, and Luke is so hungover it wasn’t appetizing to begin with. He knows he should eat something, he knows he would feel better if he did, but he can’t bring himself to do it.  
   
“Not really.”  
   
“Okay. Can I say something, then? Without you biting my head off?”  
   
Luke looks at his friend. “Why would I bite your head off?”  
   
“Because that’s what you’ve been doing, lately.” Ashton pushes his curls off his forehead and then folds his hands in front of himself on the table between them, leaning on his elbows. “That’s what I wanted to say. We all get that you’re going through a really hard time right now, but Michael is the one who caused it. Not me, not Brendan, not anyone else. You can’t keep taking it out on all your friends. Or eventually you won’t have any friends left to take it out on.”  
   
“You wouldn’t leave me,” Luke argues, but he feels badly. He knows he’s been impossible to be around in the last few weeks. He’s hated being around _himself_ in the last few weeks, and he’s the only one who has no escape. Inside his head has been a nightmare and he can’t take a breather from himself by going for a run like Ashton can. Being alone has left him empty and lost and confused, and not knowing which way to turn next, and it’s manifesting itself in anger.  
   
Ashton smiles a little. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”  
   
“I’m sorry, though,” Luke says, and he really means it. “I’m a dick, lately, I know. I just … well. It doesn’t matter why. No excuses.”  
   
“I know what you were gonna say, and it isn’t an excuse. It’s a reason. There’s a difference.”  
   
Luke nods. “I’ll try harder.”  
   
“Just remember we’re here for you. We’re in this with you, even if it feels like you’re on your own.”  
   
Luke doesn’t have anything to say to that, that wouldn’t end in him bursting into tears right here in the kitchen, so he bites at his lip instead, ripping a small piece of dead skin off of it and leaving the spot underneath slippery and tasting metallic.  
   
“So, you’re sure you don’t wanna talk about last night?”  
   
“You know what I want to do?”  
   
“Tell me.”  
   
Luke’s been thinking about it, and for no reason at all, just this second he decided he’s sure. “I want you to go with me to get a tattoo.”  
   
Ashton raises an eyebrow. “Is this really a good time to be making the decision to etch something permanently into your skin? You can’t take it back, you know, when you come down from this thing you’re going through and then regret it.”  
   
Luke huffs. “I didn’t just think of it. I’ve wanted to for months, ever since we found out about the Olympics.”  
   
Figuring it out before Luke has to voice it out loud, Ashton smiles a little and says, “Olympic rings? Really? Isn’t that a bit …”  
   
“Cliché?” Luke supplies. “Yeah, it is, and I know that. I don’t care. This is something that only a handful of people in the world can get. Maybe this was the only time I’ll ever make the Olympic team.”  
   
“I’m sure that isn’t true.”  
   
“What if it is? Yes, it ended kinda badly, will us losing and with … well. Everything else. But the good parts of it are something I want to remember.”  
   
Narrowing his eyes, Ashton does that thing where he looks right through Luke. “You sound … unexpectedly rational.”  
   
“I’ve thought this through,” Luke promises him. “This isn’t a snap decision I’m making because I’m spinning right now, this is something I wanted to get done before we even went, and I still want it. I wanted …”  
   
The words get stuck in his throat, and Ashton asks, “What?”  
   
Luke swallows. It feels awful to say it, but he says it anyway. “I wanted Michael to go with me. But he can’t, now. So? Will you please come?”  
   
“I guess, what kind of friend would I be if I said no?”  
   
Smiling, Luke agrees, “A bad one. And you’re a very good one.”  
   
He’d planned on getting the rings on his arm, but when they get to the tattoo parlor a few days later, Luke changes his mind. He isn’t getting it for anyone else; he’s getting it for himself, so he doesn’t want everyone seeing it every time he wears a t-shirt in the summer. He settles instead on his right hip in the space between the bone and the spot where hip turns into leg. That way, it’s just for him. Even if he’s shirtless, his jeans will still cover it in this spot.  
   
It hurts a bit less than he’s expecting. Luke is very used to pain by now, after leaving the arena covered in bruises more often than not and breaking a few bones and taking a few hard slap-shots to places that aren’t covered by pads and being hit in the face with a high stick more times than he can remember. This is a different kind of pain, sort of dull, sort of irritating and itchy because it’s constant, but it’s over quickly enough and Ashton is there distracting him with stupid jokes. Luke stares at it in the mirror when it’s done, before the artist covers it up in a bandage. The skin surrounding is angry and red and a bit swollen, but the rings are bright and vibrant against his pale skin, and Luke has to press his lips together to keep a big, dumb smile off his face. He loves it. Any tiny, lingering doubts that were left in his mind vanish as soon as he sees the finished product.  
   
“Clean it well for the next few days, and keep it covered,” the heavily tattooed girl instructs, as Luke pays.  
   
“I will. Thanks.” Luke smiles at her.  
   
“And if it gets infected and you get in trouble with your coach, you’re not allowed to send the angry mob after me.”  
   
Luke laughs. “Okay. I promise.”  
   
“Any regrets?” Ashton asks, as they leave the shop and walk together back towards Ashton’s car, a few blocks down the street.  
   
Luke smiles and laughs and shakes his head. In this moment, he’s happy. It might not last very long, and it might be a long time before he feels this way again, so he soaks it up. “Nope. Not one.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
Three days later, Luke borrows Ashton’s car to go pick up some groceries because their fridge has nothing in it but dill pickles and a box of baking soda. In the elevator, Luke adjusts the plastic bags that are digging into his palms. When the doors open he sees someone standing at the end of the hall, near the door to Luke’s apartment. As he approaches, he recognizes Calum, standing outside his own door, on his phone with his back turned to Luke. Because he doesn’t want to be accused of eavesdropping, Luke stops and lingers near the elevator. It’s quiet, though, and he can hear Calum’s end of the conversation anyway.  
   
“Will you at least tell me why?” Calum is asking. “I don’t know what you want me to say, man.”  
   
He sounds serious, and that isn’t unusual – Calum is a serious person – but there’s something more in his voice that Luke can’t quite identify. Maybe tired, maybe sad. Maybe something else entirely.  
   
“Because you keep just giving me pieces. You keep telling me these cryptic, half-stories but you don’t tell me everything, so I don’t know how to help you.”  
   
Luke has a feeling he knows who’s on the other end of the call.  
   
“What did he say?” Calum asks, pauses, and then sighs. “Yeah. Okay. Well if you ever do feel like telling me, you know where I am. I gotta go, alright? Sure. Okay, yeah, later.”  
   
He hangs up, and turns with keys in his hand to unlock his door, and Luke is stuck with nowhere to hide. Calum sees him, and stands there motionless for a moment, the key to his door stuck out between his fingers, halted half a foot from the lock.  
   
“Hey,” Luke says, uncomfortably.  
   
Calum sighs again. “Hi.”  
   
“Sorry.” Luke gestures in front of himself, with the hand carrying fewer grocery bags. “I didn’t mean to …”  
   
“No, it’s …” Calum finally drops his arm, sticking his keys back in his coat pocket.  
   
Luke walks a bit closer, so they don’t have to talk from opposite ends of a hallway.  
   
Calum leans against his door, and lets his head fall back to rest against the wood. “There’s no rulebook for this. It’s like, you guys ended, and he got me in the divorce, but I still want to be friends with you, I just … I don’t really know how. And he’s … well. I’m not gonna bitch to you about him.”  
   
Luke nods, and isn’t sure how to respond. “I’m sorry for the other day. At the rink. I think I was kinda mean to you. Ashton has informed me I haven’t been very nice lately.”  
   
Calum shakes his head. “No, you weren’t mean to me. You were right, I have been avoiding you. Which isn’t fair, I know, but …”  
   
“You’re stuck in the middle,” Luke says. “It isn’t fair to you, either.”  
   
Calum lets his head loll to one side, and closes his eyes for a moment. Then he opens them, and looks at Luke. “There’s …”  
   
When he doesn’t continue, Luke asks, “There’s what?”  
   
“I don’t know.” Calum runs his hands over his face. “I don’t know if I should tell you.”  
   
“Tell me what?”  
   
“Michael … he did something.”  
   
“Is he okay?” Luke asks quickly, instantly panicked. He hates how much he still cares about Michael, even though they’re finished. He wishes he didn’t.  
   
“Yeah, he’s fine. Physically, anyway.”  
   
Luke frowns. “Okay, now you have to tell me.”  
   
“I just … it isn’t really your business, anymore. And it definitely isn’t my place to tell you. But he’s, Michael, he’s not doing well. Not at all. And I shouldn’t, he’d hate me for it, but I feel like maybe this is something you need to know.”  
   
“Please tell me.” Luke doesn’t care that he’s begging.  
   
Calum presses his lips together and nods. Slowly, he says, “He … went to see his dad.”  
   
Luke blinks. He hears the words, but doesn’t understand what they mean. “He _what_? Like, in prison?”  
   
“Yeah. I know.” Calum winces. “I have no idea, honestly. He won’t tell me why, or what they talked about, or anything.”  
   
For another moment, Luke can’t make the pieces of this particular puzzle slot together. Then all at once, he remembers their last night. He remembers everything Michael said, about being worried he was turning into his father, and that he’d rather break up with Luke than stay together and risk hurting him, and that he couldn’t always control his anger and he was scared that was how it started for his father too.  
   
“What? What did your face just do?” Calum asks, urgently.  
   
“Nothing.”  
   
Calum narrows his eyes. “Do you know something I don’t?”  
   
“What?” Luke asks, defensively.  
   
“Because this came completely out of left field for me,” Calum continues slowly. “When he said he was gonna go, it didn’t make any sense to me. But it looks like it makes sense to you.”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “No, I …”  
   
“Luke,” Calum says, in his _don’t lie to me_ voice. “It’s been over two years and Michael hasn’t talked about wanting to go see his dad _once_. Then you two break up and suddenly he’s visiting him? What’s going on?”  
   
“I have to go,” Luke says. He opens his own door and then closes it behind him, struggling not to drop the bags and ignoring the sound of Calum angrily calling his name.  
   
*           *           *  
   
The building Luke can see through the windshield as he pulls into the parking lot in Ashton’s car looks like any other prison he’s ever seen in a movie. Huge, old, surrounded by foreboding concrete walls and an enormous watch tower in the centre. It isn’t far at all from where they live, from where they _work_. Less than twenty minutes from the Bell Centre by car, just on the other side of the island. Luke had no idea that all this time Michael’s father was so close to them. He probably wasn’t this close _before_ he was in prison. Luke wonders if maybe he started out somewhere else, and has been transferred. They never really talked about it, but Luke feels like if the man was going to be locked up twenty minutes away from his victim, they would have been told about it. But maybe Michael was told. Maybe he just never told Luke. Maybe he’s been coming to visit his father all along, and never told Luke that either. Suddenly, Luke feels like maybe he never knew Michael at all. He thought he did. He thought he knew Michael inside and out, but it seems there have always been secrets.  
   
The metal detectors at the door are daunting; nothing like the ones in airports that Luke is used to. The guards are big and stern and Luke knows they’re meant to be scary, that in their personal lives they’re probably nice people, but they intimidate him anyway. Once he’s inside, he cautiously looks around. There is a desk, and chairs with people in them, presumably waiting to be taken to visit their loved ones. Luke has never been in a prison before. The closest he’s ever come is the time he and Michael went to visit his father in the cell at the police station, after he’d run Michael over, and that wasn’t a real jail. Luke swallows. He looks at the two guards at the desk, sizing them up, trying to guess which one he has a better chance with. His only shot, his whole future, really, is resting on the hope that a tough, burly, blue-collar prison guard _isn’t_ homophobic. He hates to generalize, but he knows how slim his chances are. For courage, he presses his fingers into the spot under his jeans where his tattoo still hurts like a bruise when something makes contact with it. Luke’s heart speeds up as he steps forward, choosing the slightly smaller one but still realizing the likelihood that this will work at all is almost nothing.  
   
“Um. Hi,” he begins.  
   
“Can I help you?” the guard asks, sounding bored and not looking up from the crossword he’s doing.  
   
“Do you … know who I am?” Luke asks timidly.  
   
The guard does look up, and squints at Luke. “No. Should I?”  
   
“Yes, you should,” the other guard cuts in. “He’s one of the stars of the Habs, Bill, what’s wrong with you?”  
   
“I don’t like hockey,” Bill says gruffly.  
   
“I don’t like swimming but I’ve still _heard_ of Michael Phelps.” The guard rolls his black eyes. “How can I help, kid?”  
   
Luke moves over to the other side of the desk and holds out his hand. “I’m Luke.”  
   
“I know.” With a smile, the guard shakes Luke’s hand. “Sam.”  
   
Luke nods and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. “This. This is gonna sound … weird. You, um. You know that I’m … that I _was_ dating Michael Clifford, right?”  
   
“He was here the other day,” Sam says, with a strange look on his face, like he’s trying to figure something out. “His father’s been here for two years, and he’s never come to see him once. Then a few days ago he did, and now you’re here asking about it.”  
   
“Yeah. Just … how do you, uh, feel, about that? The fact that we were dating?” Luke’s heart is going so fast, so aware that if this person thought it was weird, or wrong, his whole plan will be shot down before it even got off the ground. What he needs this guard to do probably isn’t completely legal, so he if hates Luke right away for not being straight there’s no way he’ll consider breaking the law to help him.  
   
“My son is gay,” Sam says, with his chest all puffed up and a proud smile on his face. Luke breathes a huge sigh of relief. “And my sister, she’s never come right out and said anything but she’s brought her _best friend_ to Christmas dinner every year for the last decade, and everyone knows. We just don’t mention it because she never has.”  
   
“Oh.”  
   
“I bet you still get a lot of shit from people, huh? Even in 2018. That’s a damn shame.”  
   
Luke nods. “Yeah.”  
   
“You’re here because your boyfriend came to see his dad?” Sam asks.  
   
“He isn’t my boyfriend anymore.” Luke swallows again. “Okay, this … just hear me out, alright? And then when I’m done if you want to throw me out of here, you can.”  
   
Sam’s eyes narrow, but he says, “Alright.”  
   
“Michael and I broke up.”  
   
“I know. It was on the news. Which is pretty stupid if you ask me, your personal business shouldn’t be our entertainment.”  
   
Luke silently agrees. “And you know why his dad is in here?”  
   
“Yes.” Sam’s whole expression darkens. “That was on the news, too. The poor kid. I can’t imagine someone doing that to their own damn child.”  
   
“Michael hasn’t come to see his dad in two years, like you said. And then some … some stuff happened, while we were at the Olympics, and we broke up, but we shouldn’t have.” It all comes out in an adrenaline rush, now that Luke’s made the decision to actually go through with this. “And then he was here, talking to his dad, and I saw him at practice yesterday and he looks terrible, and I just.”  
   
“Spit it out,” Sam says kindly.  
   
Luke looks around nervously, and lowers his voice so they won’t be overheard. The first guard is helping another person on the other side of the desk, and there are others in the waiting room but no one close enough to hear what Luke quietly says. “I know this is against the rules. And I know it’s a long shot, but I … I need to know what they talked about.”  
   
“And how are you proposing to find out?” Sam asks, but the look on his face says he already knows.  
   
“Please, just … at least think about it? Just for a minute?”  
   
Sam glances around too, and then leans over on the desk so he’s closer to Luke. “Those tapes are confidential, kid. I need a court order before I’m allowed to release them to the _police_ , let alone some person who walks in here off the street and wants to spy on his ex-boyfriend.”  
   
“I know.” Luke sighs. “I know all that, I just … I don’t know what else to do. We broke up because of him, because of Michael’s dad, but it was stupid and Michael’s being self-sacrificing and trying to protect me, and I need to know what they talked about. So I can fix this.”  
   
“I could lose my job,” Sam says slowly, but he isn’t saying no, and that sparks just a bit of hope in Luke.  
   
“I would never, ever tell anyone,” he promises. “I know this is asking a lot, and if there was some other way …”  
   
“If anyone ever found out …”  
   
“They won’t. Please,” Luke begs.  
   
For a minute, Sam eyes him, with thick eyebrows furrowed. It’s uncomfortable, but Luke looks right back. The whites of the man’s eyes are so bright against skin darker than P.K.’s, and Luke just stares into them and tries to convey sincerity and appreciation and anything else he thinks might convince this relative stranger to risk being fired to help Luke do something illegal.  
   
Finally, Sam nods shortly, and says, “Come with me.”  
   
Luke doesn’t need to be told twice. He trails after Sam, to a windowless room down a little hall with a small desk and a monitor and a set of heavy, old-fashioned headphones.  
   
“Wait in here,” Sam says. “I’ll get the tape.”  
   
Luke nods and doesn’t say anything out of fear of saying the wrong thing. He sits in the rolling desk chair, his hands shaking and his heart still racing. He tries not to wonder what he’ll see on the tape, because it could be so many things and letting his mind wander just makes him even more nervous than he already is. When Sam comes back, Luke is rubbing his palms on his jeans because they’re sweaty. Sam is holding a USB drive, and he inserts it into the monitor and clicks with the mouse through a few files until he finds the one he’s looking for. He clicks to make it full-screen, and suddenly Luke is looking at grainy security footage of Michael, in his coat and a black wool hat, sitting on one side of a glass divider, and his father in an orange jumpsuit on the other. Luke hasn’t seen the man for two years but he would recognize him anywhere. The sight makes his blood run cold.  
   
“I’m going to lock this door,” Sam says, “and I’ll come back for you in twenty minutes. That’s all I can give you. In a half hour the guard changes over and we’ll be caught.”  
   
“Okay.” Luke nods. “Thank you.”  
   
“There’s a buzzer, here.” Sam points to a small blue button beside the door. “Normally you could press it, if you need me to let you out, but if you touch it, it will buzz at the front desk and my partner – ”  
   
“Got it. I won’t press it.”  
   
“Good.” Sam sniffs and looks uncomfortable.  
   
“Thank you, so much,” Luke says again. “I can’t tell you how much this …”  
   
“My, uh. My son.” Sam gives Luke a half-smile. “He’s only 14. He came out to us a few months ago, and he’s been teased a bit in school for it but he always comes home and he watches you and Clifford and P.K. Subban on the T.V., and he talks about how it’s okay for him to be black and gay because his heroes are too.”  
   
Something warm washes over Luke, something that makes him feel better than he’s felt in over a month. “Oh,” is all he can bring himself to say. There’s more he wants to tell Sam but he can’t say any of it.  
   
“Alright, I’ll leave you to it.” Sam closes the door, and Luke hears the scrape of the lock as he leaves.  
   
Before he loses his nerve, Luke slips the headphones over his ears and presses the play on the screen. He watches Michael and his father both pick up the black phones so they can talk, but then for a few long minutes, neither of them say anything. Luke checks the volume three times to make sure, as they sit and stare at each other and don’t speak.  
   
It’s Michael who finally breaks the awkward silence. “Hi, Dad.”  
   
“What are you doing here?” his dad asks. Chills run down Luke’s spine. It’s been a long time since he’s heard that voice, and it still scares him.  
   
“You’re my father, I can’t come visit you in jail?” Michael asks, dry and sarcastic.  
   
“You haven’t, for thirty months and sixteen days.”  
   
“Well, you hit me with a car. Can’t say I’ve really wanted to see you until now.”  
   
Luke can’t help smiling. He’s proud of Michael for standing up for himself, even though he wishes he could have been there to protect Michael from all of this.  
   
“Then why are you here now?”  
   
“I have some questions,” Michael says. Luke can hear the quiver in his voice, but he’s not sure anyone else could.  
   
“About what?” his father asks rudely. “Don’t think just because I’m an inmate now I can give you tips on pleasing that twinky boyfriend of yours.”  
   
Luke clenches his jaw, and on the screen Michael bangs his fist on the table in front of him.  
   
“For fuck’s sake, would you just …?” Michael growls in frustration. “Listen, you made my childhood _hell_ , okay? The only reason I made it anywhere in life is because Calum’s family took me in. And then you ran me over with a fucking car. I am alive today in _spite_ of your best efforts, the least you can do is tell me why.”  
   
“That’s what you came here for? You wanna know _why_?”  
   
“You owe me that much, after everything you put me through.”  
   
Suspiciously, Michael’s dad asks, “Why?”  
   
“Yeah, that’s what I’m asking.”  
   
“No, idiot. _Why_ do you want to know?”  
   
“Because …” There’s static over the speaker as Michael sighs, and on the screen Luke sees his posture change. “Because I think it’s happening to me too.”  
   
“You think what’s happening?”  
   
“I think.” Michael sighs again, and it’s shaky this time. Luke’s eyes burn and water and he hates that he wasn’t there with Michael while this was happening. They should have done this together, Luke should have been there to hold his hand under the table and squeeze his fingers and give him the strength to get through it. “I think I’m turning into you. I’m angry, Dad. All the time, about nothing.”  
   
“What kind of nothing?”  
   
Luke gets the feeling Michael’s father isn’t planning on answering any of these questions. He’s just playing. It’s the most important thing in Michael’s life, but to his dad it’s just a game.  
   
“Not _nothing_ , I mean some shit has gone down,” Michael admits. “But it shouldn’t have made me as mad as it did, it shouldn’t have made me want to hit somebody.”  
   
“Did you hit him?” Mr. Clifford asks, with a small smile, like he’s _hoping_ the answer is yes. Like he’d be proud of Michael if it was. It makes Luke sick to his stomach. “The blond kid? The one from your team?”  
   
“No,” Michael grinds out. “Never.”  
   
“Never say never. Did you want to?”  
   
“No!” Michael cries. “You have no intention of actually helping me, do you? You just wanna hear that I beat my boyfriend up just like you would have, so you can get your sick rocks off. What the fuck happened to you? When Mom was alive you were normal, did her death really break you that much?”  
   
“It broke you too, kiddo.”  
   
“Yeah, it did, but not so much that I would’ve taken it out on my _child_ with my fists! Not so much that I would ever hurt someone I love.”  
   
“Except now you want to.”  
   
“No, I – ” Michael begins angrily, and then trails off for a moment. “Not like that.”  
   
“Like what, then?”  
   
“I have never wanted to hurt Luke. Never,” Michael says defiantly, and it hurts in Luke’s gut because that’s what _he_ said, that’s what he tried to get Michael to believe the night they broke up. No matter how many times he said it, Michael refused to listen.  
   
“Then why are you here?”  
   
“Because what if one day I _did_ want to?” Michael asks. His voice breaks. “Isn’t that how it started for you? You didn’t go from happy to roughing me up overnight. It built slowly, right? First you wanted to hit me, for a while, but you resisted. And then you stopped resisting. So what if that happens to me?”  
   
Michael’s dad makes a squeaky noise, like he’s sucking his teeth. Luke wishes the quality of video was better so he could see the expression on the man’s face. Michael’s face, he can’t see at all. Michael’s back is to the camera, so all Luke can see is the tense line of his shoulders.  
   
“I don’t think I want to help you fix your relationship with that fa – ”  
   
“If you say that word,” Michael cuts in, calm but dangerous. “I will find that judge who sentenced you to five years in here, and I will tell him all kinds of other things. I’ll tell him you killed our dog, threatened my friends. I’ll tell him you touched me.”  
   
“I didn’t do any of those things,” his dad snarls.  
   
“I’ll tell him anyway. And he’ll believe me, and I’ll get you put away for life. In a federal prison, not a nice one like this. You know what they do in here to guys who touch kids, right? You want a taste of the thing you hate so much about me?”  
   
For a moment, they just stare at each other. Luke’s heart is beating so fast, and the room feels like it’s spinning around him.  
   
“What do you want me to say?” Mr. Clifford asks eventually, in a flat, bored voice.  
   
“I want you to tell me why you hit me! And how it started, so I can figure out if it might be starting with me too.”  
   
“I can’t do that.”  
   
“Why not?”  
   
“If you want to get married to the twink and live a long and disgusting life with him, you’re gonna have to do it without my help. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night,” he spits.  
   
Softly, in a voice that sounds like he’s barely managing to keep the tears back, Michael whispers, “I’m your son.”  
   
“Unfortunately.”  
   
“Do you not care about me at all?”  
   
“Not anymore.”  
   
Luke puts a hand over his mouth. He watches, horrified and mesmerized, on the screen as they stare at each other for one more minute, and then Michael hangs the phone up and slowly stands and walks away. Luke sees him wipe his eyes just before he disappears from the frame, and then watches his dad hang up as well and saunter off in the other direction, like the conversation had no more effect on him than if they’d been discussing their favorite pasta dishes.  
   
With tears streaming down his face, Luke leaves. He ignores the calls from Sam at the desk as he passes it, hurrying back to Ashton’s car, trying desperately not to be seen. When he gets there, he climbs in and slams the door behind him, and collapses down against the steering wheel. He can’t breathe. Something tight is gripping his chest and it won’t let go. Everything is spinning and Luke is falling, cold hands are dragging him down into a pit of nothing but despair and he doesn’t bother fighting it.  
   
*           *           *


	25. eikosipente

Between games, travelling, and increased practices as the playoff race tightens, it’s nearly a week before Luke can find a spare minute to talk to Michael. It takes him that long to work up the courage to do it, anyway. He has to outright beg Calum to tell him where Michael has been staying. Calum doesn’t want to, and Luke understands his loyalty and respects it and usually wouldn’t try to coerce Calum into breaking a promise, but he needs to this time. Luke has no choice anymore. Everything about this is all wrong. He can’t let Michael suffer through this all on his own. Even if Michael still doesn’t want to get back together, after everything they’ve been through together Luke is going to be there for him whether he wants it or not.  
   
The morning after a home win against the Oilers, Luke takes off on foot, trudging through the messy spring slush all over the sidewalks, with an address in his phone and his heart beating into his throat the entire twenty minutes it takes him to walk to the hotel Michael’s been living in since they got back from Korea. His shoes are soaked through by the time he gets there, and his face and coat are wet from the drizzle falling from the grey, overcast sky. The weather, appropriately, reflects his mood these last few weeks. Come to think of it, there hasn’t been much sunshine in the last month at all.  
   
“How can I help you?” the man behind the desk asks, with a customer-service smile.  
   
“Could you tell me what room Michael Clifford is in?”  
   
The man’s smile stays glued to his face, but his eyes change. “I’m afraid I can’t, it’s against our policy to give out room numbers. For security reasons, I’m sure you understand.”  
   
Carefully, Luke says, “You know  who I am, right? I’m not a stalker fan or something, he’s my teammate.”  
   
“Yes, Mr. Hemmings.” The man nods. “I know who you are. But we have rules, and I’m not at liberty to make exceptions. Even for you.”  
   
“Could you call him? And let him know that I’m here?” Luke tries. He would call Michael’s cell but he’s worried if he did, Michael wouldn’t pick up. If the front desk calls the room, Luke’s wagering it’s at least less likely that Michael will tell them to send Luke away. If only to protect his own dignity.  
   
“That, I can do.” The fake smile returns in full force, and the man picks up the phone on the desk and dials. He doesn’t seem to need to look up Michael’s room number, probably because Michael’s been staying here for over a month. Luke imagines him getting to know the people who work at the front desk, and the cleaning staff; being nice to them and turning them into his temporary surrogate family because he doesn’t have anyone but Calum anymore.  
   
“Mr. Clifford, it’s Dennis at the front desk. You have a visitor, a Mr. Hemmings.”  
   
There is a long pause, and Luke tries to read the other end of the conversation in the man’s eyes but can’t make anything out in them.  
   
“What would you like me to tell him?” Dennis asks, and Luke’s heart sinks. But then, Dennis nods, says, “Will do. You’re welcome,” hangs up, and tells Luke, “he’s on his way down.”  
   
Luke wasn’t expecting that. “He wasn’t thrilled to find out I’m here, I guess.”  
   
Dennis blinks, and the smile falters but only for half a second. “It isn’t my place to have an opinion on that. Can I get you anything while you wait?”  
   
Luke shakes his head, and moves away from the desk, leaving Dennis to demonically smile at the next person waiting in line. He glances around the lobby, taking in high ceilings and patterned marble floor and an enormous fireplace with leather sofas arranged around it. Luke didn’t expect Michael to be in a place like this. He would have guessed a Super 8 or a Best Western, somewhere cheap and basic and unassuming. The elegance of this place doesn’t fit at all with Michael’s personality.  
   
The elevator doors ding as they open, and Luke looks up. Michael walks out of them. He’s in sweats and a rumpled green flannel, and his favorite beanie is pulled down over his light brown hair. Luke still can’t get used to Michael with normal human colored hair. Every day since Luke’s known him, it’s been stop-sign red, or bleached white, or bubble-gum pink, or mermaid turquoise. Luke had never seen Michael without it dyed until a few weeks ago, and where his old colors used to make him seem larger-than-life, his natural color makes him seem small. He still looks tired. Every time Luke has seen Michael since they broke up, it’s been with dark purple circles under his eyes. Now that Luke really has a chance to look at him, Michael also looks thin. His cheeks are more angular than they used to be, and the shirt he’s wearing hangs off his frame a little looser than it did the last time Luke saw him in it.  
   
“What are you doing here?” Michael asks, after they stare wordlessly at each other for so long Luke almost forgets how to respond.  
   
“Can we talk?” Luke says, and then clears his throat when his voice cracks a little.  
   
“Did Cal tell you I was here?”  
   
“I didn’t give him much of a choice.”  
   
“Luke …”  
   
“I’m not …” Luke moves a few steps closer, not really excited about the prospect of a lobby full of strangers having front row seats to their soap opera. “I’m not here to beg you to take me back. I just think … we need to talk. Five minutes, okay? Then you can have security throw me out.”  
   
The ghost of a smile passes over Michael’s face – it’s barely there, but Luke catches it. “I could throw you out myself, if it came to that.”  
   
“You wouldn’t, though.”  
   
This time, Michael’s smile is real. Brief, but real. It warms Luke’s soul like hot soup on a cold day. “No. I wouldn’t.”  
   
“Please?”  
   
Michael nods. He turns back to the elevator, pressing the button and then holding the door for Luke, just like he used to. At their apartment, and in random hotels all over the country, Michael always put his hand over the slot where the doors disappear when they open and let Luke walk in first. Elevator doors have motion sensors; it was never something that was actually necessary for him to do but he always did.  
   
“This place is a bit fancy, isn’t it?” Luke asks, as they walk the long hallway toward Michael’s room.  
   
“I started in a shitty motel just outside the city,” Michael tells him. “I was there for a week, and then somehow Meghan from security found out I wasn’t living with you anymore, and she wanted my new address. I guess they like to know where we all are. When I told her where I was, she made me move here.”  
   
“Why?”  
   
“I guess so I didn’t die in a random stabbing. Or for image reasons in case anyone saw me. I don’t know, I didn’t argue with her.” He swipes a card through the lock on his door, and lets Luke in.  
   
The room looks more like a small apartment than a hotel room, with a couch and a kitchen and a separate door that Luke assumes is the bedroom. He’s happy at least that Michael’s been living somewhere nice. He didn’t need to deal with 3 AM noise and cockroaches and drug deals going down outside his door, on top of everything else. And he’s happy Michael has been safe. He’d been worried about that.  
   
“Do you want anything?” Michael opens the fridge, and cringes as he looks into it. “Actually never mind, I don’t have anything.”  
   
“Except this,” Luke points out, picking up a nearly empty bottle of vodka from the counter. “I guess it’s wishful thinking to hope you had a party?”  
   
Michael takes the bottle from his hand, and tosses it into the garbage can. “It hasn’t been the best few weeks of my life,” he says, sarcastic, but also sad.  
   
“Me neither.” It’s on the tip of Luke’s tongue to tell Michael that binge drinking isn’t the answer to his problems, but he’d be a hypocrite if he did.  
   
Nodding slowly, Michael walks over to the couch, and Luke follows him. They sit. Michael pulls off his hat, messes with his hair, and then tugs the beanie back on over it. “So. What’s up?”  
   
“I have to tell you something.” Luke’s heart races again, but he forces himself to speak the words he came all the way here to speak. “Actually, two things.”  
   
“Okay.”  
   
“The first, is.” Luke hesitates, and his stomach churns. He doesn’t want to admit this because he doesn’t even want to think about it, but he doesn’t want there to be any secrets left between them. Michael deserves the truth. “I was with someone the other week.”  
   
Michael is silent for a moment. Then he emotionally says, “Oh.”  
   
“I wasn’t … I was in a bar, and I was drunk, and I took this girl out to the alley but we didn’t … barely anything happened. I stopped it after about ten minutes.”  
   
Michael looks up at him, frowning curiously. “Why?”  
   
“Because … she wasn’t you.”  
   
“Well,” Michael sighs.  
   
“I’m sorry,” Luke says softly. He feels it in his chest, the shame hot and uncomfortable.  
   
“No, don’t be. I can’t say I’m happy about it, knowing someone else touched you like that. But we broke up. It’s not like you cheated on me, I have no right to be mad.”  
   
Luke nods. He still feels badly, but not really because he did anything to Michael. Because he wishes he hadn’t done it to himself.  
   
“You should be with other people. You should move on, that would be good for you. It’s what you’re supposed to do, when you break up.” Michael doesn’t sound like he believes it.  
   
“I don’t want to move on,” Luke confesses. Admitting it makes him feel more vulnerable than he maybe ever has.  
   
Michael turns to face him for just a moment, and he looks tired, and broken. “What’s the second thing?”  
   
“I know you went to see your dad.”  
   
Michael huffs a humorless laugh and falls back against the cushions of the couch. “I guess it was too much to hope Cal wouldn’t tell you that.”  
   
“There’s more, though.” Luke feels a lot guiltier about this offence.  
   
“What?”  
   
“I, um. I went there too.”  
   
Michael blinks and stares at him. “To see my dad?”  
   
“No.”  
   
“What, then?”  
   
“I convinced someone to let me watch the security tape of your visit with him, so I could see why you went, and what he said to you,” Luke says all in one breath, before he chickens out.  
   
Michael stares blankly ahead. He rubs the back of his palm over his mouth. “So you heard everything?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“You heard him say he doesn’t care about me anymore. That he wishes I wasn’t his son.”  
   
“I felt like he stabbed me when he said that. I can’t imagine what it was like for you.”  
   
“I guess it’s not like I didn’t already know it,” Michael sighs. “But yeah, it wasn’t exactly a picnic to hear.”  
   
“You were crying when you left.”  
   
Michael presses his lips together. “Yep.”  
   
“So was I,” Luke offers.  
   
“Why?”  
   
“The fact that we’re not together anymore doesn’t erase everything we had. He might not care about you but I still do.”  
   
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you didn’t?” Michael asks, staring at his hands.  
   
“Probably. But it doesn’t work that way.”  
   
“He wouldn’t tell me why he hit me.”  
   
“Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe he doesn’t understand it himself.”  
   
“You heard him. He wouldn’t have told me even if he did know.”  
   
Luke swallows thickly. “Michael, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have gone, I just …”  
   
Shaking his head, Michael says, “I’m not mad.”  
   
“Why not?”  
   
“I don’t know. I guess because it’s you.”  
   
“You deserve so much better than him,” Luke tells him. He has such a strong urge to reach out and take Michael’s hand, but he doesn’t.  
   
“I know that.”  
   
“You do?” Luke was expecting Michael to argue.  
   
“I’ve been seeing a therapist.” Michael stares off into space as he says it, but the corner of his mouth twitches.  
   
Luke isn’t expecting that either. “Oh? That’s … Michael, that’s great.”  
   
“Don’t tell anyone, okay?”  
   
“I won’t, but you shouldn’t be embarrassed by it. After the shit you’ve been through, there’s nothing wrong with needing a little help. No one would judge you for it.”  
   
“We talk about you a lot.”  
   
Another surprise, and Luke doesn’t know what to say to it. He assumed they’d talk mostly about Michael’s dad. He didn’t know their relationship was something Michael would feel the need to talk to a therapist about. He thought it was one of the good things in Michael’s life. “What about me?”  
   
“She thinks I used you.”  
   
Instantly, Luke hates her, and he doesn’t even know her name. “What the fuck, no you didn’t.”  
   
“No, not … not like that. She thinks I used _us_ , to avoid dealing with me. That I like – hid in our relationship, because you made me happy and when I was with you, I could ignore how unhappy I really was.”  
   
“I didn’t know you weren’t happy,” Luke says. The thought makes his chest ache.  
   
“I was happy with you,” Michael tells him. “Every time I looked at you, every time you smiled at me, every time I remembered that you could’ve had anyone in the whole world and you wanted me, I was so happy it … it let me forget about everything else.”  
   
“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”  
   
“Dr. Schwartzman says that it’s bad because problems don’t go away if you ignore them. All the shit I was dealing with, when I was with you it didn’t seem so bad but it didn’t disappear just because I was masking it with something else for a while. So now it’s even bigger than before, because it’s been growing under the surface all these years and I never noticed it until everything fell apart.”  
   
Luke doesn’t speak for a few minutes, letting everything Michael said absorb into his skin.  
   
“That probably all sounds so weird to you,” Michael mumbles, sounding ashamed.  
   
“No, it doesn’t.” Luke shakes his head. “It just sucks, that’s all.”  
   
“M’sorry.”  
   
“No,” Luke says quickly. “That’s not what I meant. It isn’t your fault, Michael. You didn’t ask for any of this.”  
   
“Neither did you.”  
   
“What does she think about you becoming your father?” Luke wishes Michael would look at him. Being so close to him, after all this time, is torture. Luke wants to touch him, to comfort him, and he can’t. He balls his hands into fists, the effort of resisting leaving throbbing welts in his palms from his fingernails.  
   
Michael is quiet for just a moment, and then he says, “That’s the one good thing about me going to see him. I don’t think that anymore. I’m nothing like him.”  
   
“ _Nothing_ ,” Luke echoes. He doesn’t say that he knew that all along. “You would never hurt someone you love.”  
   
“Not physically, anyway.”  
   
“Not in any way.”  
   
“I hurt you.” Finally, Michael does look back at him. There are tears swimming in his green eyes. “I didn’t hit you but I still hurt you. My dad hurt with his fists, but that’s not the only way to damage somebody.”  
   
He isn’t wrong, and Luke doesn’t know how to respond.  
   
“I’ll never forgive myself for that.”  
   
“You could still undo it.” Luke wasn’t planning on this. He meant what he said at the elevator – he didn’t come here to beg Michael to take him back. And now he’s going to do it anyway. In a last-ditch, all-or-nothing sort of way, Luke just cuts himself open and lets himself bleed. It’s terrifying, and thrilling, to leave everything on the line and give someone else the power to pick him back up or leave him forever.  
   
“Luke.”  
   
“This could all just be a bad memory.” Luke sounds pathetic, and he knows it, and he doesn’t care. He tucks one leg up on the couch so he can fully face Michael, finally giving in and reaching out and gently grabbing Michael’s arm. “Something we’ll hate to think about ten years from now. That one month when we lost our minds. We can just act like none of it ever happened, we can pick right back up where we left off. Remember how happy we were at Christmas? We could go right back to that, Michael. Just hit the reset button, like on a computer that isn’t working. Back to default settings, back to how we were before.”  
   
Michael closes his eyes, and one tear spills down his cheek. “I can’t.”  
   
Luke’s jaw trembles as he fights back tears too. “Why not?”  
   
“Because everything has changed, and we can’t pretend it hasn’t. I’m not okay, Luke.” Michael’s voice shakes. He looks so scared. “I haven’t been, for a long time. And I’ve been hiding it. From you, and from myself. But that was never going to work forever. Sooner or later it was going to come crashing down, and I’m just … I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire when it did.”  
   
“I don’t blame you. For any of it.”  
   
“Thank you,” Michael says sincerely. “The thing is, though. I’m not … I’m not whole. Hopefully someday I will be, but not right now. I can’t be good for anyone until I get better, and I can’t get better if I keep using you to hide from the things that are wrong.”  
   
Luke nods, and squeezes his molars together to keep pitiful sobs from escaping. He wipes his eyes, and tries to breathe through the pain in his chest.  
   
“I don’t want to be away from you.” Michael sniffs. “But it’s for the best. For both of us.”  
   
“Did I make you happy?” Luke whispers. Michael indirectly already said it, but Luke needs to hear it again.  
   
Michael looks at him, with a furrowed brow and shining eyes. Slowly, he reaches out and drags the backs of his knuckles over Luke’s cheek. It’s the first time he’s touched Luke in so long, Luke had forgotten what it felt like. His skin prickles, and a shiver runs down his spine, and he closes his eyes and turns his face into Michael’s hand. It’s going to hurt like a burn when Michael stops touching him, knowing now it will really be for the last time.  
   
“Yes,” Michael whispers back. His hand settles on the side of Luke’s neck, heavy and warm. “You made me so happy.”  
   
“I think maybe I’ll always love you.” Luke has been scared of it, actually. That Michael will never want to get back together, and Luke will never get over him. After tonight, it’s more of a reality than an abstract fear, and that makes it fifty times harder to accept.  
   
“I know I will.” Michael’s thumb traces in a slow arch over the skin under Luke’s ear. “But you … you’ll move on, you’ll find someone else. One day you’ll be happy this happened.”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “I won’t.”  
   
“Yes, you will,” Michael insists. He reaches up with his other hand and takes Luke’s face in his palms. “Believe me. I know it seems impossible right now, because it’s new, but you’ll heal, and you’ll meet somebody new, somebody who deserves you because they can love you the way you deserve to be loved. And then you’ll realize that this sucked, but it was for the best. You’ll be happy you didn’t get stuck with me for the rest of your life.”  
   
Not all that long ago, Luke was so ready, and so excited, to give the rest of his life to Michael. He doesn’t say so. He knows Michael is wrong, but he can see that he’s been beaten.  
   
“Do me a favor?” Michael asks, smiling hopefully through tears. “Even though I don’t deserve it?”  
   
Luke nods.  
   
“Can I kiss you, one last time?”  
   
It would be smart to refuse, but Luke can’t. Michael has always been quicksand. Luke drowns in him, even when he shouldn’t. He lets Michael lean in, and softly press their lips together. It’s soft, and familiar, and salty from their tears, and Luke whimpers softly and curls his fingers in the flannel of Michael’s shirt and never, ever wants to let go.  
   
When Michael breaks it, and tilts his head down so their foreheads rest together, he murmurs, “I love you, so much. And I’m so sorry.”  
   
There are billions of things Luke wants to say. He wants to beg Michael to reconsider, he wants to swear he’ll never give up on them, that he’ll wait for Michael to heal even if it takes years. Instead, what he says is, “I hope one day everything will be better for you.”  
   
“Me too.” Softly, Michael laughs, and jokes, “Can I call you, when that happens?”  
   
Luke wishes he could laugh. “I’m going to ask my agent to … to get me traded.”  
   
“What?” Michael breathes.  
   
“It’s not something I just decided. I’ve been thinking it for a while.” Luke shakes his head, and his nose bumps against Michael’s. They’re so close, foreheads still pressed together so they can both keep their eyes closed and not have to look at each other. If they did, Luke thinks everything might shatter. “I love you, Michael, and I respect your decision. I understand it, I understand what you’re going through. But I can’t be around you, I can’t keep seeing you every single day if there’s no chance of us ever being us again. It’s too hard.”  
   
Luke hears the click of Michael’s throat as he swallows.  
   
“Okay,” Michael says.  
   
“Don’t hate me, alright?”  
   
“I never could. I’ll miss you. Fuck, I’ll miss you so much, but. I understand.”  
   
As predicted, it’s more painful than Luke could have imagined to pull himself out of Michael’s arms. He takes one last look into Michael’s eyes, and kisses Michael’s cheek because he can’t help himself, and then wordlessly shows himself out. Michael doesn’t make a move to stop him.  
   
*           *           *


	26. eikosieksi

Luke calls his agent as he’s walking home, worried that if he doesn’t do it right now, he’ll talk himself out of it. His heart doesn’t want this at all. His heart wants to stay, and wait for Michael, even if it means waiting for years. His head knows what a terrible idea that is. His logical, rational side knows that going away is the only situation in which he stands a chance at being okay again some day. He can’t turn the clock back, so he has to look forward instead.  
   
“Hi, Luke,” his agent answers, in his typical rushed, distracted voice. He always has a million balls in the air at once, and he’s a nice guy but Luke always feels like he’s bothering him, when they talk. “Cinched a playoff spot the other day, I heard. That’s sick, man.”  
   
“Yeah.” Luke shivers, in the cold air and in uncomfortable anticipation. “Listen, Jay, I gotta talk to you about something. Do you have a minute?”  
   
“Yeah, just one, though. I’m running into a meeting.”  
   
“I’ll keep it short, then. Get me traded.”  
   
There’s a pause, and a crackle, and then, “What?”  
   
“I can’t be in Montreal anymore.” The words feel like sandpaper scraping his throat as he forces them out. “With Michael, and everything, it’s not working here. I need to go somewhere else.”  
   
“You know I can’t just snap my fingers and make that happen, right?” Jay asks. “If Bergevin doesn’t want to let you go, you’re not going anywhere for two more years.”  
   
“Yeah, I know that. Just – try, okay? Put in a request or get the word out or whatever. We’ve got low draft picks this year, maybe they’d be willing to let me go for a higher one.”  
   
“I think they’re pretty happy with you, kid. The numbers you put up are hard to argue with.”  
   
“I’m not asking you to make this happen by tomorrow, I’m just asking you to look into it. To see if it’s even a possibility.”  
   
“Where do you want to go?”  
   
“It doesn’t matter,” Luke says honestly. “Anywhere.”  
   
“Did he really fuck you up that badly?” Jay asks, with a heavy exhale. “This is why they really shouldn’t let players date each other. It’s asking for trouble.”  
   
“We never asked for anyone’s permission,” Luke informs him hotly, annoyed at the implication. “Look, people ask to be traded all the time. To be closer to their families, or because they don’t get along with their coach. What does it matter, what the reason is? I need to go somewhere else, that should be enough.”  
   
“Alright. I’ll look into it, and I’ll let you know what I find out.”  
   
“Thanks.” Luke hangs up without saying goodbye. The breath he draws in is cold, and his lungs contract as cool air is pulled into them, and at the same time it feels terrifying and exhilarating. There’s no turning back now, and Luke is oddly comforted by it. Finally making the decision takes away the sting and anxiety of ambivalence.  
   
Instead of going home, Luke walks to the rink. He changes into a spare pair of sweats and sneakers that he finds stuffed into the bottom of his locker, and heads for the gym. He can hear the metallic clinking of equipment as he approaches, and he finds P.K. pushing a bar loaded with weights up over his head and then setting it back down on the ground.  
   
“Hey,” Luke greets him. “What are you doing here?”  
   
“Hey.” P.K. shrugs. “I was bored at home. I’m not so good with days off, I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m not here.”  
   
“Plus, you miss us,” Luke jokes.  
   
“Yes I do.” P.K. isn’t joking at all. “So why are you here?”  
   
“Thought I’d work out.”  
   
“It’s a gym, so yeah. That much I could’ve guessed.” P.K. narrows his eyes a little. “What’s with your face? What happened?”  
   
Luke frowns, and brings his hands up to his own cheeks in confusion. “Am I bleeding or something?”  
   
“No, I mean like, the look on your face. Something’s wrong.”  
   
“Oh.”  
   
“Oh?” P.K. raises an eyebrow.  
   
Luke chews at his bottom lip and spends a moment debating whether he has the energy for this conversation. “You can’t tell anymore. Not yet, anyway.”  
   
P.K. gasps exaggeratedly. “You’re pregnant?”  
   
Luke laughs. “Yep, that’s it. It’s a girl.”  
   
“Congratulations.” P.K. nods his head toward a bench near the windows. “C’mon. Sit with me and tell Uncle Pernell all your troubles.”  
   
Luke sits, and cuts straight to the point. He wants to run on a treadmill until he isn’t sad anymore, so this conversation needs to wrap up as quickly as possible. “I’m being traded.”  
   
“What?” P.K. snaps. “Where?”  
   
“No, I haven’t been traded yet. I mean, I’ve asked for it. For them to find another team that wants me.”  
   
“What the fuck. Why?”  
   
“You know why.” Luke licks his lips and stares at the ground in front of his shoes.  
   
“Yeah, I do, and I’m gonna kick his ass.”  
   
“Michael didn’t do this. He didn’t do anything. We’re just … we’re over.” It’s still so fresh and so painful to admit it even in his own mind, let alone out loud with actual words. A lump rises in Luke’s throat, and his voice sounds pinched when he continues. “It’s over, and I can’t be here anymore.”  
   
There’s a long pause, and then a heavy sigh, and P.K. says, “That sucks, but I guess I can’t say I blame you.”  
   
“It’ll be better this way.” Luke’s trying to convince himself as much as his friend. “Everything is weird right now, the stuff with me and Michael is screwing things up for everyone else. After the playoffs, I’ll just go away, and you guys can all go back to how it was before I got here.”  
   
“It wasn’t that great before you got here,” P.K. replies. “There was all that shit between us and Michael, and us and Cal because he was always with Michael. You fixed all that, when the two of you started dating and Michael lost that chip on his shoulder. We weren’t much of a team before you.”  
   
Luke wasn’t prepared to hear that, and he isn’t prepared to deal with it either.  
   
*           *           *  
   
The city turns from frozen to flooded as April melts into May. Everything is wet, and slushy, and messy, and Luke doesn’t make it through a day without soaked shoes for weeks, but the breeze is warm again and the sun is higher and stronger and Luke missed warmer weather. They play the Capitals in the opening round of the playoffs, and win their first two games in Washington. Carey doesn’t let in a single goal in the second game, blocking over 40 shots to secure the shut-out. It seems like everyone on earth is talking about it the next day. Luke can’t turn on a television or a radio or even walk down the street without overhearing someone gushing about their goaltender’s brilliance.  
   
Their coach switches up the lines for the playoffs, or at least for the first round, trying to find something that might spark something unexpected in his team. He puts Michael on Luke’s line, and starts them in both games. In the days leading up to their trip to Washington, they had to practice together, and after almost two months of not speaking – except for the conversation in Michael’s hotel room that Luke doesn’t like to think about – Luke finds himself talking to Michael again. At first, just out of necessity. They couldn’t draft plays and run drills together and not say a word to each other. It began as shop-talk, but then gradually it started to feel as if they’re almost friends again. It still hurts to be around him, a lot, but Luke prefers this to when they couldn’t even look at each other. Luke was never angry with Michael, and it made everything much harder to deal with when they were acting as if they were.  
   
The morning of their first home playoff game, Jack’s girlfriend phones just as Luke is getting out of the shower. He quickly wraps a towel around his waist and answers the phone, moving out of the steamy bathroom and back to his bedroom. He lies still damp on his unmade bed, shivering a little as the cool air hits his shower-warmed skin.  
   
“What’s up?”  
   
“Mom’s still worried about you,” Celeste answers.  
   
“I’ll call her tonight, after the game,” Luke says. This time, he means it. The sting has gone away just enough that he thinks he could handle talking to her again. She’ll still sympathize and unintentionally make Luke feel worse, but he’s been ignoring her calls for a lot longer than he should have.  
   
“How are you holding up?” Celeste asks, and Luke hates the gentle compassion in her voice. He knows she means well but he’s tired of everyone treating him like he’s just been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor; like if they speak too loudly, he might break. He isn’t the first person on the planet to go through a break up.  
   
“I’m okay.” It isn’t really the truth, but Luke wishes it was. He isn’t okay yet, but he’s trying to be. And it is getting easier, as time puts distance between him and everything that happened. Luke figures maybe if time doesn’t heal wounds, it at least numbs them a bit so they’re easier to forget about. At the very least, sometimes for a moment Luke forgets why he’s supposed to be forgetting.  
   
“It will get easier.”  
   
“How do you know? You’re still with the love of your life.”  
   
“I love Jack more than anything,” she agrees. “If we broke up I would be devastated, for a long time. But then it would start getting easier to get out of bed in the morning, and I’d start slowly noticing the sun again, and eventually I would meet someone new and learn how to be happy again. And you will too. That’s how it works.”  
   
“Maybe it only works that way when you break up with someone you aren’t supposed to be with.”  
   
“Michael was your first serious relationship,” Celeste points out. “Maybe it feels that way now because you don’t know any different.”  
   
“Or maybe he was my soulmate. Maybe I don’t need to have had a dozen other serious relationships to know that I’ll never be whole again without him.” Luke knows he’s being pointlessly dramatic. He just feels like it today, and his brother’s other half is the unlucky recipient. He doesn’t feel too badly about it. He figures Ashton deserves a break.  
   
“I can’t tell if you’re being serious right now.”  
   
Luke exhales and drums his fingertips on his bare chest. “Neither can I.”  
   
“I wish I knew how to help.”  
   
“I don’t think you can. But thank you. I appreciate that you want to.”  
   
“Call Liz, okay? I know it’s hard to talk to people who love you when you’re hurting, but just let her know that you’re alright.”  
   
“You could tell her I am.”  
   
“I will tell her. But you should, too.”  
   
“I know.” Luke sighs again. “I will.”  
   
“Good. We’ll all be watching, tonight. Two more and you’re onto the next round?”  
   
“You hate hockey.”  
   
“I don’t _hate_ it!” she protests. “It’s not my favorite thing to watch, I’ll give you that, but I can watch it for you. I can sit through a game when my little brother is in the playoffs.”  
   
“I’m grateful for your sacrifice,” Luke jokes.  
   
“You’re welcome.”  
   
There’s a light knock at Luke’s door, and Ashton’s voice says, “Put some clothes on, Hemmings, we gotta head out.”  
   
“Coming!” Luke calls. To Celeste, he says, “I have to go.”  
   
“Okay. Good luck tonight!”  
   
“Thanks.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
The Capitals win by two goals, so their coach calls for a last-minute practice on their day off in between games. Luke doesn’t really think it’s going to help. They played well, and losing one game doesn’t mean they can’t win the series, but he keeps his mouth shut and turns up at the practice rink when he’s told to. An hour in, the assistant coach asks for the defence to gather at one end of the ice, and for everyone else to take a break. Luke grabs a bottle of yellow Gatorade from the basket on the bench, and skates away from everyone else to sit at the opposite end of the rink, behind the empty net. It’s warm in the arena, and he has a bit of a headache, and doesn’t feel like being in the throng of his teammates at the moment.  
   
“Mind if I sit?”  
   
Luke looks up, and Michael is standing over him. In the distance behind him, Luke can see Ashton watching them from the bench. Max is talking to him, but Luke can tell Ashton is only pretending to listen.  
   
“Sure,” he says to Michael.  
   
Michael lets his stick drop to the ice and slides down the boards behind him, landing easily with his feet out in front of him. He uses the front point of one skate blade to pick at a rip in the fabric of his other skate.  
   
“I need new blades,” he says, casually.  
   
“Let Pierre know.”  
   
“I did. They just aren’t here yet. They have to custom make mine ‘cause one of my feet is bigger than the other.”  
   
Luke presses his lips together and tries not to smile. “Yeah, I know.”  
   
“Oh.” Michael pauses and then laughs at himself. “Right. I forgot you know everything about me.”  
   
Luke wishes he could forget.  
   
“This sucks,” Michael says quietly.  
   
“Needing new skates?”  
   
“No. Everything else.”  
   
Luke nods. “It kinda does.”  
   
“I know I shouldn’t be saying that to you, when it’s my fault.”  
   
“It’s not your fault, Michael. It does suck but not because you did anything wrong.”  
   
“The romance stuff is … I mean I miss that too, obviously, but on top of all that, you were my best friend, y’know? I miss having you there to talk to, not even about important stuff just like. I got a new electric toothbrush and I really like it. My elbow hurts from that hit last night. Shit like that.”  
   
“Calum is your best friend,” is the only thing Luke can come up with to say that wouldn’t come off needy or pathetic or turn into begging Michael again to reconsider.  
   
“You were my second best friend, then.”  
   
“I had to take Kellin to the vet last week,” Luke says. “I left some food out and he got into it. Did you know onions make cats sick?”  
   
Michael’s eyes are wide when he turns to look at Luke. “Is he okay?”  
   
“Now he is. It was a bit scary at the time.”  
   
“Fuck,” Michael breathes. After a moment, he adds, “I miss him, too.”  
   
“You could … come see him, sometime.” Luke squeezes the inside of his cheek between his molars and hopes it doesn’t sound like he’s trying to trick Michael into spending time together. “Or, I mean, technically he’s your cat. You could _take_ him, if you want.”  
   
Michael shakes his head. “Your place is his home. I don’t wanna take him away from that.”  
   
“Your old place was his first home.”  
   
“I live in a hotel, Luke,” Michael says heavily. “I’m pretty sure pets aren’t allowed.”  
   
“What’s your plan, with that? You can’t live in a hotel forever.”  
   
“I don’t have one yet.”  
   
For a while, they don’t say anything else and Luke watches the drill at the other end. His eyes find Calum, skating backwards through the maze of orange cones with ease and floating past them. He’s got the best eyes of anyone on their team. He always just seems to know where everything is, he never has to look.  
   
“My therapist put me on anti-depressants,” Michael says.  
   
“Oh.” Luke isn’t sure how Michael would like him to respond, and he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and break this delicate, temporary truce they’ve reached. “That’s good. I hope they help.”  
   
“They’re gonna make me fat,” Michael grumbles, staring down at the blade of his stick. He picks it up, and starts pulling at the fraying tape.  
   
“You’re a pro-athlete, I’m sure that’s not true,” Luke argues. “And even if they did, who cares? That doesn’t matter, okay? Just focus on getting better.”  
   
“You wanna hear something shitty?”  
   
“Sure.”  
   
“There’s, like, dozens of different ones. Different kinds of pills. Because they don’t all work the same on everybody. And there’s no way for anyone to know which one will work for you, so you just have to try them all until you find one that does.”  
   
Luke blows out a breath. “That is unbelievably shitty.”  
   
“And one of the most common side-effects is that you actually feel _worse_. Like, how fucked up is that? Can you imagine if they tried to market a drug to cure migraines and the biggest side effect was _more_ migraines?”  
   
“Doesn’t seem fair at all.”  
   
“The first one I tried didn’t do anything, so I had to go off it before I could start the one I’m on now, and withdrawal is like. Horrible. I couldn’t sleep, looking at food made me nauseous, I was dizzy all the time. And I kept having these like … I don’t even know what to call them. Tremors. Kind of like tiny electric shocks.”  
   
“For how long?”  
   
“About a week.”  
   
“That really sucks, Michael. I’m sorry.”  
   
Michael sighs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be unloading all this on you, we’re not … you’re just the one I’m used to talking to. But it’s kind of unfair, now.”  
   
“It’s okay.” Luke glances at him, so Michael knows he means it. “Really, I don’t mind.”  
   
“Don’t tell Therrien.”  
   
“Why would I?”  
   
“I’m not saying you would. I just don’t want him to know. I’m worried he’ll bench me, if he thinks I’m not right in the head.”  
   
Luke wishes it was an unfounded fear, but unfortunately it isn’t. “What if there’s random drug testing?”  
   
“Then I’ll have to tell him. But until then, I don’t need the grief of anyone knowing about this.”  
   
Luke nods. “Does Calum know?”  
   
“He knows I’m seeing a shrink. Not about the meds.”  
   
“You should tell him.”  
   
Michael’s nose scrunches up. “Why?”  
   
“You know why. He’s been worrying about you like it’s his job for over a decade. It would make him really happy if you trusted him enough to tell him.”  
   
“You’re right, but it’s annoying that you’re right,” Michael mutters.  
   
Luke laughs a little. “Sorry.”  
   
“I’ll get over it.”  
   
Luke scans the ice in front of them, and there are more pairs of eyes than just Ashton’s on them now. “We’re being watched.”  
   
“People are relieved we’re talking again.”  
   
“I hated it when we weren’t,” Luke admits.  
   
“Me too. A lot.”  
   
“I’m. Uh. I’m not gonna lie and say I don’t miss you. That would be pointless. But I want you to know that I’m really proud of you, Michael.”  
   
“You are?” Michael sounds hopeful.  
   
“Yeah. Life kinda dealt you a crap hand, but you’re getting help, and you’re dealing with it, and that’s really fucking brave.”  
   
“Thanks.” Michael’s lips curve into a soft smile. “I …”  
   
“Can I have the forwards back?” the coach calls, interrupting Michael.  
   
“Tell me later?” Luke asks.  
   
Michael nods, and they get up and make their way down the ice. Luke knows Michael probably won’t tell him later, whatever it was he was about to say. Probably, that’s for the better. The threshold of what Luke can and can’t handle without tail-spinning is still tenuous at best, and it’s better not to risk it when they have an important game tomorrow.  
   
*           *           *  
   
They take the series, four games to two. Some of the team heads to Max’s house in the suburbs to celebrate after the final game, and it’s the first time Luke has had anything close to fun in over two months. It’s nice, to drink just enough that he’s pleasantly buzzed and laugh with his teammates. He doesn’t talk directly to Michael, but they’re involved in group conversations and it feels easy and familiar and something close to how things used to be. The next morning, when the high of winning wears off and Luke wakes up alone and remembers nothing is how it used to be, it almost hurts more. When his agent phones a few hours later to let him know Minnesota is potentially interested in acquiring Luke for one of their fourth-liners and a draft pick, Luke feels something like relief. In a way, everything is worse now than it was a month ago. Back then, at least Luke knew that everything had gone to shit. Now, he’s getting caught in imagining that maybe everything will be okay, maybe he’ll get Michael back, maybe this will all just be a bad memory one day instead of something life-changing. The more Luke lets himself believe it, the more it will hurt when it doesn’t come true.  
   
No one is going to be particularly happy about this, but Luke absolutely dreads telling Ashton. To maybe soften the blow just a little bit, Luke orders a pizza with pineapple on it for supper, which Ashton loves and Luke hates. Tonight, he’ll pick the chunks of sour fruit off. Ashton is grocery shopping because their fridge is empty. When he gets back with armfuls of the reusable plastic bags he insists on taking instead of disposable ones, Luke helps him carry the bags inside and put the food away, which he never does. Luke does other things around the house. He likes vacuuming and folding laundry; finds it relaxing. Ashton has always been in charge of groceries, both of the times they’ve lived together.  
   
Luke sets up the pizza box on the coffee table when it arrives, and hands Ashton a beer and the remote, and Ashton takes them both and narrows his eyes.  
   
“What did you do?” he asks suspiciously.  
   
“Hm?” Luke’s fake innocence is definitely not convincing.  
   
“You’re being all nice, and you hate Hawaiian pizza. Did you break something? Insult my mother? Get me in trouble somehow?”  
   
“None of those things.” Luke moves uncomfortably in his seat.  
   
“Then what?”  
   
“I have to tell you something, and you’re not gonna like it,” Luke starts.  
   
“Okay …”  
   
Luke takes a deep breath, and can’t look at Ashton as he says it. “A few weeks ago, I asked Jay to look into getting me traded.”  
   
“Excuse me?” Ashton asks, his voice quiet and dangerous, like whatever Luke says next will determine whether they’re still friends after this conversation.  
   
Luke rushes through the rest of it, before he loses his nerve. “And the deadline for this year has passed obviously, and I wanna stay here and try for a cup with you guys. We deserve to win one, together, like we’ve wanted for three years. But Minnesota is interested in me, for next season, and if Jay can make it happen, I – I think I’m gonna go.”  
   
Ashton is quiet for a really long time. Finally, he says, “Are you serious?”  
   
“I don’t wanna leave,” Luke mumbles. “I really don’t, but I can’t …”  
   
“One of us was probably going to be traded eventually anyway, that’s how it works in this business. You and me, and Michael and Cal and Gally and P.K. and Carey, it’s not realistic to assume we were all going to be on the same team forever. But you don’t go _asking_ for it!” Ashton reaches over and smacks Luke on the arm, hard. “We were supposed to ride this out as long as we could! Make the most of the time we’d get together!”  
   
“Except we aren’t _us_ anymore! I’ve spoken to Cal maybe three times in almost two months, the rest of you guys are pissed at Michael, Brendan tries to help but keeps accidentally making everything worse and then I yell at him, and me and Carey used to be close but we don’t talk anymore either! Did you know I was the first one he told about becoming a dad? Even before he told P.K., and they’ve been best friends for way longer than you and me have. And now he just stares at me awkwardly from across the room like he doesn’t know what to say. Me and Michael breaking up changes things, it changes _everything_ and don’t bother telling me I’m wrong because you know it does.”  
   
“We could still get it back!” Ashton tries. “You and Michael have been better lately, we’ve all noticed! You’re talking again, and the other day at practice you were laughing together.”  
   
“The entire time we were talking? It was like I was three people at once. One of them was fine with just casually enjoying his company. The second one wanted to beg him to take me back again. And the third one wanted to go home, pack up all my stuff, and move to a shack in Mongolia so I never have to see him again because of how much it fucking hurts to be around him. I can’t be his friend, Ash. The last little while has made that really clear. I wish I could, but I can’t.”  
   
“Maybe not yet, but maybe one day you could. Maybe you just need more time. And the rest of us can be friends with both of you, we don’t have to take sides.”  
   
“You already _did_ take sides,” Luke points out incredulously. “Cal chose Michael and the rest of you chose me, even though none of you had any idea what had gone down. Don’t you think Michael’s probably really hurt by that? And you can’t undo it.”  
   
“So we’ll apologize. Don’t do this, Luke. Give us a chance to fix it.”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “Ash, I’m sorry, I … I know this sucks, and don’t think I’m not upset about the idea of not seeing you every day because I am. You have no idea. You’ve been like a brother to me since the day I got here, I’m gonna hate going to some rink every morning and not seeing you there.”  
   
“Then what the hell?” Ashton demands.  
   
“It isn’t about you. Michael doesn’t want to get back together, maybe ever. And he’s got really good reasons for it, and I understand where he’s coming from and why it has to be this way, but I can’t live like this.” Luke’s voice shakes, and his heart is pounding so hard he can feel the pulsing blood in his hands. “How am I supposed to get over someone when my job makes me see them every single day? There’s no way to get any distance from him, I’m just trapped in … in this shadow of what my life used to be, and I can’t get it back but I can’t get away from it either.”  
   
Ashton stares at him, with his mouth open and his head shakes a few times. “Can you _please_ just tell me what happened with you two? What did he do, that you’re so sure you can’t come back from?”  
   
“He didn’t do anything,” Luke says defensively.  
   
“ _Luke_ ,” Ashton insists. He rubs his hand over his mouth. The pizza remains untouched and cooling on the coffee table in front of them. “Listen, you … you are my best friend. The best friend I’ve ever had. Ever. Like you said, from the first week you got here, it’s been you and me. And now you are asking me to just blindly accept the fact that you suddenly want to leave. Don’t you think you owe me the full story? If I can’t stop you from doing this, don’t you think I at least deserve to understand why it’s happening?”  
   
Luke looks at him, takes in the pleading in Ashton’s hazel eyes, and can’t find a good reason to refuse what Ashton’s asking him for. “Michael’s worried he’ll become his father.”  
   
Ashton shakes his head again. “What?”  
   
“When we were at the Olympics, that night he went off to kick that guy’s ass. The one who’d been fucking with me.” Luke has actively worked to keep himself from thinking about that night, and reliving it now in his own mind is nearly as painful as it was when it was happening. “He came back all freaked out about the fact that he wanted to solve a problem by hurting someone, worrying that he was gonna turn into his dad and start hitting me.”  
   
“Did you tell him that’s fucking stupid?” Ashton snaps.  
   
“Of course I did. It didn’t work, though. He wouldn’t listen to me. He broke up with me because he was scared he’d hurt me some day.” Luke clenches his jaw and forces the words to come out. “And then when we got back, he started seeing a therapist who told him he was using our relationship to avoid dealing with his issues, and he decided he couldn’t be good for anyone until he worked on himself for a while.”  
   
“When did he tell you all that?”  
   
“A few weeks ago. He’s been living at a hotel downtown, I went to see him and we talked.”  
   
“Why didn’t you tell _me_ that?”  
   
“I didn’t think you needed to know.”  
   
“Luke!”  
   
“Ash, it’s over, okay? That’s what I’m trying to say. Michael’s reasons for ending it were impulsive and yeah they were kind of stupid but his reasons for not wanting to get back together are good ones. Even if it sucks, he’s doing what’s right for himself right now and I can’t hold that against him.”  
   
Ashton stares at him with a muscle working in his forehead, and then gets up suddenly and storms off toward the door.  
   
Luke stands too. “Where are you going?”  
   
Ashton leaves, and hammers on Calum’s door across the hall.  
   
“Ash, don’t,” Luke implores, knowing he’s going to be ignored.  
   
“Cal!” Ashton yells.  
   
“What?” Calum asks, sounding annoyed, as he opens the door. “You can’t knock like a normal human? I was sleeping.”  
   
“Do you know about this?” Ashton asks, gesturing behind himself back into their apartment, where Luke is still standing at the coffee table, thirty feet from them.  
   
Calum squints at Luke. “About what?”  
   
Luke listens as Ashton recounts everything he just said, and watches it play out on Calum’s face as he takes it in. Even from far away, Luke can tell in Calum’s expression that he didn’t know about any of it. Luke assumed Michael would have told Calum the whole story by now. He clearly was wrong. Calum’s face goes white as Ashton wraps it all up, and then he ducks back into his place for a moment and comes back with a jacket pulled on over one arm and car keys in his other hand. He slams his door, locks it, and takes off down the hallway without a word to either of them.  
   
*           *           *


	27. eikosiefta

Luke is expecting a lot of things to happen. He’s expecting Ashton to chase after Calum, and yell at Luke to come too. He’s expecting Calum to come back twenty minutes later, dragging Michael behind him by the ear. To shove Michael at Luke and demand that they get back together immediately. He’s expecting Michael to be mad when he gets here and finds out Luke betrayed the secrets he was entrusted with. He’s expecting Michael to insist that they can’t be together right now, and all of this to have been for nothing and Luke to get his heart broken all over again.  
   
None of it happens. Instead, Ashton just calmly steps back into the room and shuts the door behind himself. He looks satisfied, and he goes into the kitchen and starts rummaging through the fridge like nothing is any different. Luke follows him, and watches as Ashton pulls out deli meat and cheese and lettuce and starts constructing a sandwich.  
   
“What did you do that for?” Luke asks, after it becomes evident Ashton isn’t going to offer the information on his own.  
   
“Do what?”  
   
“Come on, don’t,” Luke groans. “You know Michael’s gonna be pissed that I told, right? He told me all that stuff in confidence, Ash. He clearly hadn’t even told Calum some of it. I promised him I’d keep it to myself and now he’s going to know I didn’t. So thanks for that.”  
   
“It’s not going to matter. Cal’s gonna fix it.”  
   
“Dammit, Ashton!” Luke cries. “You can’t – this isn’t your life, okay? And it’s not Cal’s either. Whether me and Michael get back together is our shit, not yours, neither of you have any right to – ”  
   
“Do you still love him?” Ashton interrupts. He looks up at Luke, his forehead scrunched in a frown under his fridge of curls.  
   
Luke presses his lips together and shakes his head, but not to say _no_. It would be a lie, even if he could make the word pass his lips, and Ashton would know it. “Yeah. I still love him. I’m really scared that I’ll never stop, actually.”  
   
Ashton puts the butter knife in his hand down onto the counter, and brushes the breadcrumbs on his palms off on his jeans. He walks over and puts his hands on Luke’s arms, just above his elbows. “Listen to me. I get that he’s been through way more stuff than anyone should ever have to deal with. I get that it’s left marks on him. But the two of you being apart is just … it’s wrong. I’m sorry, he’s just wrong about this.”  
   
Luke shakes his head again. “He wants to do some work on himself right now, and he feels like he needs to be alone to do it. I don’t think that’s wrong. You can’t tell someone they’re wrong about how they feel.”  
   
Ashton’s hands drop down to his own sides. “Okay, so wrong isn’t the right word.”  
   
“He’s dealing with some really heavy stuff, Ash. This isn’t a game.”  
   
“I know that. You know what else I know? That he didn’t break up with you because he stopped loving you. He did it because he was afraid of hurting you. And probably also because he doesn’t believe he deserves you. I know about depression, okay, my mom dealt with it my whole life. She pushed people away because there was this little voice in the back of her mind telling her she didn’t deserve love, and that she’d ruin anyone who got close to her. Maybe Michael just needs – ”  
   
“You know what I think Michael needs?” Luke isn’t angry, but he needs Ashton to know he’s serious. “He needs everyone to stop telling him what to do. If we ever do get back together, I don’t want it to be because Calum bullied him into it. Michael’s the only one who knows exactly what he’s going through, so he’s the one who gets to decide how to handle it, and what he says he wants right now is to be alone. I’m gonna listen to him, and you and Calum should too.”  
   
Luke leaves Ashton alone in the kitchen. He scoops Kellin up off the floor as he walks past him, and carries the black cat off to his bedroom. He closes the door behind himself and falls onto his bed, with Kellin landing on his chest. Instantly Kellin curls up, purring happily, and Luke scratches his ears. With his other hand, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and goes to his messages. He scrolls through his conversations looking for Michael’s name, and then realizes he has the app set to delete conversations after thirty days, and it’s been more days than that since the last time he sent a text to Michael.  
   
He starts a new conversation, and sends _Idk what Calum is saying to you right now but I swear I didn’t send him over there._  
   
After a minute, Michael sends back _I know you didn’t_  
   
 _This is ashton’s doing,_ Luke answers. _I’m sorry. He’s trying to help. I meant what I said before, I’m proud of you and I respect your decision_  
   
It’s longer, this time, before the bubble pops up indicating Michael is writing back. It’s there for a while, and then disappears for a while, and then the words _Thanks luke_ appear in grey. He was typing for longer than it would have taken to write two words, and Luke aches to know what Michael had written and then deleted. He doesn’t ask. He puts his phone down next to his bedside lamp, and rolls over to face the wall with Kellin still purring in his arms.  
   
The next time they see Calum and Michael, neither of them act like anything happened at all. Ashton seems put out, but Luke is secretly glad. He hates the idea of their friends interfering and pushing Michael into something he doesn’t want.  
   
*           *           *  
   
Their second series is against the Senators in Ottawa. It’s a lot closer to Montreal than Washington was, which means less travel time and more sleep. Luke appreciates it. It’s grueling hockey. Faster than the regular season in a way that isn’t really tangible, but Luke feels it. He leaves every game exhausted and bruised, with only a day or two to recuperate before the next one. Brendan can barely walk the day after their third game, after blocking a shot and taking a puck right to his leg that was coming like a shot from a gun. He snaps at anyone who suggests he sits the next game out; intense as always. He’s in pain every time he’s on the ice when they play the fourth game in Ottawa, but he’s brilliant anyway and scores twice, likely just for the privilege of rubbing it in the faces of everyone who said he shouldn’t play. The first time Luke played against Ottawa in the playoffs, a player named Erik Karlsson interfered with him a few times and Calum lost his temper and fought the guy, and since then the two of them have been involved in a rivalry every time their two teams meet. It heats up with each passing game, landing them both in the penalty box enough to have Therrien pissed, and Luke assumes the Senators’ coach isn’t any happier.  
   
It doesn’t matter, in the end. They take the series in a dramatic, hard-fought game seven. Maybe in the spirit of trying to further repair the sense of being a team that they lost a little when Luke and Michael’s break up made everything awkward, Michael invites everyone over to his hotel room after that game. Not everyone comes – a lot of the older guys have kids and families and obligations – but lots do. Luke remembers the very first house party he ever attended with this group, at Brendan’s place after their very first practice. He remembers Michael standing alone in the kitchen, while everyone else drank and laughed and never noticed his absence. It was the first time Luke felt sorry for Michael, and wondered if maybe there was something darker beneath his aggressive, icy exterior.  
   
This time, Michael isn’t quite the life of the party, because that role always falls to Ashton, but he’s in the throng of it, talking and laughing loudly and buzzing around to make sure everyone has a drink who wants one. They make a ton of noise, and Luke hopes Michael isn’t going to be in trouble with the hotel for disturbing the peace.  
   
Luke sticks close to Carey, who tends to be a bit of a wallflower during social events. Luke isn’t sure of his place anymore. Normally, he’d be in the thick of it with everyone else, following Ashton around and occasionally kissing Michael where everyone could see just to laugh as they all groaned in fake disgust. This time, Michael is in the centre of everything and Luke doesn’t belong beside him, even if things have been better between them lately than they were even a few weeks ago.  
   
“It’s nice to see him smiling again,” Carey says, nodding toward Michael. “He brings everyone down when he’s brooding.”  
   
“Yeah.” Luke pushes his tongue against a small cut on the inside of his cheek.  
   
“How are you doing?”  
   
“I’m okay,” Luke says, and every time he does lately, it’s getting a bit closer to being the truth.  
   
As it gets late, people begin to filter out one by one, or in small groups deciding to split a cab. Luke doesn’t actually see Ashton leave, but at one point he realizes his roommate isn’t here anymore. They came together in Ashton’s car, and Luke doesn’t understand why Ashton would have ditched him, until twenty minutes later when the last few stragglers make their exit and Luke is left alone with Michael, and then he gets it.  
   
“Where’s Ash?” Michael asks, looking at Luke from across a living room littered with empties and red solo cups and pizza boxes.  
   
“He left,” Luke says.  
   
“Why?” Michael frowns. “Didn’t he drive you here?”  
   
“I guess he didn’t want me to have an easy way home.”  
   
Comprehension dawns on Michael’s face. “Oh. Sneaky.”  
   
“Cal didn’t force you to get back with me so I guess Ash figures he can trick us into it.”  
   
Michael nods but doesn’t answer.  
   
“Want me to help you clean up?”  
   
“You don’t have to stay.” Michael is smiling but he looks tired. “If you don’t want to be here.”  
   
“I never said that.”  
   
“I know. But it’s okay, I wouldn’t want to be here alone with me either, if I was you.”  
   
“It’s not like I hate you or something.”  
   
“No?” A tiny hopeful smile graces Michael’s lips for just a moment and then he hides it.  
   
“I couldn’t.” To avoid making eye contact, Luke stars gathering bottles even though Michael never officially said he wanted help.  
   
Michael gets a garbage bag and gathers up the cups, while Luke attempts to stack beer bottles in a small blue recycling bin. There’s no way they will all fit so the rest he stands up next to it on the floor. He sits on the couch when he’s done, absentmindedly watching as Michael flattens the pizza boxes and puts them in the hallway just outside of his door. After closing it behind himself and turning the lock, Michael sits as well, on the other end of the couch, as far away from Luke as he could get. Luke hates that it’s uncomfortable.  
   
“Are your parents coming to any games in the next round?” Michaels asks.  
   
“Yeah, I think so. The second one, probably. In Pittsburgh. It’s closer for them than here.”  
   
“Does it feel weird to think we might steal a chance for the cup from Sidney Crosby?”  
   
Luke laughs a bit. “Not really. In my first year it might have, but now he just feels like any other player. Well, almost.”  
   
“On a slightly higher level than some.”  
   
“Than everyone,” Luke corrects. “None of us are on his level.”  
   
“You are.”  
   
“Shut up,” Luke laughs.  
   
It’s getting easier to talk to Michael. It’s slowly slipping back into how things felt when they were first friends, and Luke misses everything but he’s missed their friendship a lot. He still thinks it will be for the best if he leaves for another team next year, but he’d like it if they could part as friends, instead of two people with a mess between them left unfinished. Luke doesn’t notice it happening, but at one point he looks down and they’re a lot closer on the couch than they were a half hour ago. The sound of Michael’s laugh makes him happy. They chat about nothing, and it feels effortless like it used to. Luke isn’t consciously aware of it. It isn’t a decision he makes, he just falls into it like tripping on a crack in the sidewalk. Before he knows enough to stop it before it starts, Michael is kissing him, and he’s kissing back, and it’s just like it was before. Michael’s hands in his hair feel exactly the same; he tastes just like Luke remembers, and Luke is so close to just throwing every better instinct he has out the window and falling into Michael completely.  
   
Then a nagging thought pulls at him, makes him wonder what tomorrow will be like if he lets this go any further. How far they’ll go – if they’ll just kiss or if they’ll relapse completely and sleep together and Luke will wake up in Michael’s bed and regret it. It would be so easy. Luke knows every inch of Michael, he knows how to be with him, what they both like, the rhythm they fall into so naturally, the practiced positions they drift to sleep in afterwards, with their arms around each other. Luke longs for all of it, but at the same time he’s scared it will undo all the progress they’ve made. He’s scared he won’t be able to handle rejection a second time.  
   
Breathlessly, Luke tilts his head down to let his lips fall from Michael’s. “What are we doing?” he whispers. His heart is screaming at him to stop asking, to just keep kissing Michael, to hold onto him and never let go. But his head knows nothing has changed. They’re still in the same spot they were two months ago, and this will just hurt them both more when it doesn’t go any further than this momentary lapse. Luke should never have come here. Michael is the drug that he knows is bad for him, but can’t say no to.  
   
“I don’t know,” Michael whispers back.   
   
It painful like a punch to the chest but Luke forces himself to pull away, to get back upright and shift over a few inches on the couch and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothing is different,” he says. “Right? You still think you need to be alone, for now?”  
   
Michael doesn’t answer.  
   
Luke’s hands shake so he balls them into fists. “I can’t keep doing this. If you don’t want me anymore I understand, but I need to move on. I can’t keep letting myself hope that everything will go back to the way it was if it’s never going to.”  
   
Michael still doesn’t speak, so before he loses the nerve, Luke gets up. Just as he’s at the door, Michael’s voice softly asks, “Do you still want me?”  
   
Luke swallows and clenches his jaw. It isn’t a fair question, and for just a moment he hates Michael for asking it, and instead of responding he leaves without looking back.  
   
*           *           *  
   
Two weeks later, they’re heading to the Stanley Cup Finals. They beat Pittsburgh in five games, so they have a few days off while the western conference semi-final finishes. After a team meeting at the rink, Calum asks Luke and Ashton if they want to get a bite to eat, and they agree. Luke misses Calum. They used to be close, and it’s been improving in the last couple of weeks but it’s still not like it was.  
   
When they get back, Luke goes into his room. It’s cluttered as usual so he doesn’t notice right away, until he sits down on his bed and the small envelope falls down toward his hand. Luke frowns and picks it up. His name is written on it, in what looks like Michael’s scratchy handwriting. Luke gets a nail under the sealed flap on the back and carefully rips it open, pulling out the letter inside and unfolding it.  
   
 _Hi Luke._  
   
 _This is going to seem weird but just go with it. Give me an hour of your time, and then if you want to go ahead with the trade, leave Montreal and never see me again, I’ll understand and I won’t bother you anymore. But first, I want to tell you a story._  
   
 _It’s our story. You were there for every chapter, so you know this story already, but sometimes it’s easy to forget things while you’re living them. I know I do. Sometimes everything is clearer when it’s laid out in front of you. Our story is about two people who fell in love, and then let the world come between them. I know that part is my fault more than yours. I let the things my dad did in the past control my present. I don’t want it to control the future. The ending to this story should be our choice, not his. If we don’t end up together it should be our decision, not the consequence of his actions. Let me tell you the story of us, so we can see how we got to now. Then, together, we can decide where we’re going._  
   
 _Put your shoes on and go across the hall. Calum is waiting for you. (Unless he got hungry again and went for pizza or something. If he did, text me so I can yell at him.)_  
   
 _Love, Michael_  
   
Luke stares at the page after he finishes, for so long his eyes unfocus and the words go blurry. Then he blinks, and reads it again. Then he reads it a third time, noticing the way the letters are a little messier than they would normally be, like Michael’s hand was shaking as he wrote it, and the way _consequence_ is scribbled out and written again after being spelled wrong the first time. Then he just stares, for even longer. Finally, he gets up, and finds Ashton in the kitchen.  
   
“We have no food,” he says, as Luke walks in. “Unless you want to eat dill pickles and ketchup for supper. Which, gross. Wanna order Chinese?”  
   
“Ash,” Luke says.  
   
Ashton pulls his head out of the fridge and looks over at the tone in Luke’s voice. “What’s wrong?”  
   
Luke holds the letter out. Ashton closes the fridge and takes it, frowning as he reads it. “Um. What?”  
   
“Did you let him in?” Luke asks. “I found it in my room.”  
   
Ashton shakes his head. “I guess he still has keys, from when he lived here.”  
   
“Oh.” Luke hadn’t thought of that. “Right.”  
   
“Is that all? He didn’t leave anything else?”  
   
“Just this.”  
   
“I don’t … understand.”  
   
“Me neither.”  
   
Ashton looks back at the note, and skims it – Luke watches his eyes moving quickly back and forth. “Alright. Well … I guess, we do what he’s asking. Go see what’s at Cal’s.”  
   
Luke’s skin prickles apprehensively, although he doesn’t know what he’s nervous about. He can’t think of anything else to do, though, so he does what Michael’s note asked. He laces his boots, and pulls a hoodie over his head, and makes his way across the hall with Ashton right behind him. Calum opens the door right away when they knock, as if he was standing on the other side of it waiting for them.  
   
“Come in,” Calum says, in a silly, posh voice like a British butler. He goes to the coffee table and points at another envelope, resting just on the edge of it. “I’ve been given strict instructions not to touch it. For some reason Michael didn’t trust me not to tamper with it.”  
   
“This is why you asked us for lunch?” Ashton says, and it isn’t really a question. “So Michael could sneak into our place?”  
   
“It’s not like he robbed you. Plus, he did live there for two years, so it’s sort of his place too, don’t you think?”  
   
“What’s going on?” Luke asks.  
   
“I can’t tell you.” Calum looks like he’s struggling to fight back a grin. “I’m just supposed to give you the note, watch you read it, and then I have to leave you and go meet Michael.”  
   
“Where?”  
   
“Can’t tell you that either. Read the note.”  
   
Luke glances at Ashton, who looks just as confused as Luke feels. He reaches down and picks the envelope up, opening it as he did the last one.  
   
 _This is where we first met. You walked in and looked at me like I was a celebrity whose sex tape had just been leaked. It was the same way everyone always looked at me back then, when they met me for the first time. I hated you before you even opened your mouth. Luckily, after a while I got over myself and over the sting of people thinking they knew everything about me just from reading the tabloids. Letting myself change my mind about you was the best decision I ever made._  
   
 _Calum’s going to leave you now. He can’t tell you where he’s going, but you’ll know eventually. The next note is on the rooftop. There is a pair of my shoes in the corner that faces north, the note is under them._  
   
Luke looks up when he’s done, wordlessly handing the note over to Ashton to read. “Cal,” he says.  
   
Calum shakes his head. “Don’t even ask, I’m not telling you anything. Now get out, I have places to be and you have to go looking for shoes on the roof.”  
   
“What the hell is this, a scavenger hunt?” Ashton asks. He’s half laughing, but also looks like his amusement is going to be short-lived if no one gives him answers any time soon.  
   
“Not quite. I’m not telling you anything else.” Calum grabs his keys and his wallet, and opens the door, pointing toward the hallway outside. “You’re my boys and I love you and all that, but get the fuck out.”  
   
“Calum!” Ashton insists.  
   
“Will you just go with it?” Calum laughs. “I promise it will all make sense soon enough.”  
   
He ushers them out the door, ignoring their protests, and then he takes off before they can stop him.  
   
“What do we do?” Luke asks.  
   
Ashton sighs and shrugs. “I guess … we go look up to the roof. I don’t know what they’re doing but they’re clearly not going to tell us, so. We go on their wild goose chase and then yell at them later.”  
   
“Is he trying to apologize? Or get me back? Or lead me into some kind of trap, so they can lock me up to keep me from getting traded?”  
   
“I know exactly as much as you do,” Ashton reminds him, deliberately ignoring the part about Luke being traded. He’s been living in fairly serious denial since Luke told him about it. “Let’s just go, the sooner we get this over with the sooner we can start thinking of payback plans.”  
   
He goes off in the same direction that Calum just went, and for a moment Luke keeps staring at the second note. His heart is beating a bit quicker than normal and his mind is racing. Deciding Ashton is right, he puts both notes in his pocket and follows. Ashton is holding the elevator door for him, and they ride up to the top floor. Ashton turns the handle on the door to the roof, that’s supposed to be locked but opens if it’s jiggled a certain way, and they climb the stairs and emerge in the bright sunlight. Luke spots a pair of black and white Converse sneakers just after Ashton does, and Ashton jogs over to get the note. He opens it and reads it first, and then hands it to Luke with a funny look on his face.  
   
“What?” Luke asks, uneasily.  
   
“Just read it.”  
   
Luke turns it over in his hands and does.  
   
 _We’ve been up here hundreds of times over the years. Sometimes just the two of us, sometimes with Cal and Ash and Gally, and a few times with our whole team. It’s an important spot in our story. I’ve never told you this, but this rooftop is where I realized I was in love with you. We were still friends, then. I told you about my mom up here. I told you about things I’d never told anyone before, and you listened and you cared, and you were beautiful in the moonlight and I was in love with you, and content to just be near you even if you never felt the same way._  
   
 _The next note is hidden under a rock in the garden outside. I drew on it with a sharpie so you’ll know which one to lift up._  
   
Ashton barely waits for Luke to finish reading before he’s heading back down the stairs. Luke shoves the paper into his pocket and has to run to catch up. They ride back down to the main floor in silence. Just outside the front door, in the small flower garden, Ashton points at a rock with a black X drawn on it, and Luke picks it up. Buried just slightly in the dirt is another envelope, and Luke takes it and brushes the mud off it before he opens it.  
   
 _Look out into the street, at the patch of pavement just past the stop sign. This is where something bad happened, but it made me realize exactly how much you loved me. The worst part of what my dad did wasn’t the broken bones, or the media attention, or having to be back in a hospital when I hate them. It was the look on your face. Calum told me later how scared you were, in the waiting room before they would let you see me. Once they did, you stuck by my side and wouldn’t leave when the doctors told you to go. And when we got home, and I couldn’t face the world yet, you stayed with me in our bed until I could. When he was on trial, you were there in the courtroom every day. They wouldn’t let you sit with me, but just knowing you were there is what gave me the strength to get through it. We’ve known each other for such a small portion of our lives, but there are so many things I would never have gotten through without you._  
   
 _Remember that diner we went to once, in De Lorimier? The next note is with a waitress named Marianna. She’s expecting you._  
   
“He’s … he’s actually telling us your story,” Ashton says, after Luke gives him the note to read.  
   
“That’s what the first one said he was going to do.”  
   
“I know, but … he’s really doing it.” Ashton shakes his head in amazement. “Luke, this is incredible.”  
   
“I don’t know what to think,” Luke says honestly. It’s too much to take in. Luke feels like he’s reading the words Michael has written, but not fully understanding them.  
   
Ashton digs his keys out of his pocket and starts walking toward the parking lot, with Luke trailing along behind him automatically. “Do you remember where that diner is?”  
   
“I think so.” Luke frowns and tries to recall, as they climb into Ashton’s car. “We went there after a concert at La Tulipe, but we walked from the venue and it was forever ago … but I think so.”  
   
Luke remembers the general area but not the exact location, so it takes them a while driving in circles before he thinks he sees a place he recognizes. It was dark, the only time Luke was ever in this neighbourhood, but he’s almost sure it’s the right one. Ashton waits in the car while Luke goes inside, asks the hostess if he can speak to Marianna, and takes the envelope she hands him.  
   
“Your boyfriend is the cutest thing,” she gushes, “putting all this together for you!”  
   
Luke thanks her, and doesn’t bother mentioning that Michael isn’t his boyfriend at the moment. He reads the fifth note as he walks back to Ashton’s brown Station Wagon.  
   
 _We came here after one of the best nights of my life, when we saw Silverstein and we kissed in public for the first time and didn’t care that people were looking. I don’t think anyone recognized us, but I wouldn’t have cared if they had. My dad found us here before we could even order, and tried to ruin the night, but you stood up for me even though I could tell he scared you. And when we got home you made me forget what he said to us. You’ve always been able to do that. You kiss me and you make me forget about everything else._  
   
 _The next one is at the front desk of Montreal General. Be nice to the woman working there. She wasn’t thrilled about having to be a messenger service, although I managed to charm her into it anyway._  
   
“The hospital,” Luke says to Ashton, as he gets back into the car.  
   
“What?”  
   
“That’s where we’re going next, Montreal General. It’s at the front desk.”  
   
“Jesus,” Ashton mutters, as he puts the car back into gear and pulls onto the road. “This must have taken him like a week to set up.”  
   
Luke doesn’t answer. He squeezes the latest note in his hand as they drive, and it’s almost like he can feel a little piece of Michael coming back to him through the paper.  
   
The woman behind the desk is surly about it, like Michael’s note warned she would be, so Luke smiles and makes sure to thank her several times as she hands him the envelope. There are patients in wheelchairs milling about, so Luke waits to get back to the car to read this one so he doesn’t accidentally trip over someone with a broken leg. He unfolds the note and holds it to the side so he and Ashton can read it together.  
   
 _After you got hurt in your first year, this is where Therrien found out about us, because I insisted on going with you in the ambulance even though our game wasn’t over. After that happened, we were finally real. Our coach knew, and even though we didn’t officially tell the rest of the team for a while longer, I think they all figured it out after that. And your brothers knew. They walked in on us kissing, in your room. A lot of good things happened because you got hurt, although a lot of bad things happened too. If I ever doubt how much I need you again, I’ll just think back to that moment. I’ll think about right after you’d been hit, when you fell to the ice and didn’t get up. It wasn’t longer than a few seconds, but in that moment, just for an instant, I thought I’d lost you. I don’t know what I would have done._  
   
 _The next one is under the bridge. I know you remember the spot._  
   
“What bridge?” Ashton asks.  
   
“Just drive, I’ll give you directions.”  
   
They have to park the car, because the spot is far enough away from the road that Luke won’t be able to just run to it while Ashton waits. They walk down the boardwalk in buzzing silence. Luke is excited, and nervous, and still confused, and worried, and happy, and tense, and it’s all swirling around in his brain and leaving him vaguely nauseous. Ashton looks like he feels about the same, although maybe not quite as much. Michael didn’t leave an exact location for this one, so when they get to the spot under the bridge where Michael brought Luke a few times to sit and look out over the river at night, they have to search. Eventually, Ashton finds the envelope tucked into a crack in one of the cement pillars, held in place with duct tape.  
   
Luke rips the tape off and holds it out so Ashton can read with him again.  
   
 _Before I knew you, I used to come here on my own, to get away from everything. After we got together, I brought you here with me. Like everything else, you took bad memories and replaced them with good ones. This spot is where we were sitting when you asked me to come visit your family over the summer for the first time. Since then, they’ve become my second family. I love the way they looked at us, that first time. I was nervous, expecting it to be uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. They didn’t care for a second that I wasn’t a girl, that you didn’t end up living the life they thought you would. They just loved me because you did._  
   
 _The next note is at Montreal Central Station, on Rue Berri. It’s with an attendant named Frank. Don’t worry, you’re almost done._  
   
“Montreal Central Station,” Luke reads out loud. “Like the bus terminal?”  
   
“What memory is there?” Ashton asks.  
   
“I have no idea,” Luke says. “I don’t think I’ve ever been there before. Maybe he meant somewhere else?”  
   
Ashton pulls out his phone and types on it. “It is on Berri Street, like he said. I don’t know where else he would have meant.”  
   
Luke tries to think, but can’t come up with an alternative explanation. “Okay. Let’s go there, then.”  
   
Frank has bright red hair, sticking at odd angles out from under a worn baseball cap. He’s missing three teeth, and the wrinkles in his face are deeper than they should be for his age, but his smile is wide and friendly and his laugh is loud and infectious and Luke can see instantly why Michael chose him.  
   
“Might one of you be Luke?” he asks, in his big, booming voice.  
   
“I am,” Luke says.  
   
“I’ve got somethin’ for you.” He holds the note up, and winks. “That’ll be fifty dollars.”  
   
Before either of them can react, Frank laughs.  
   
“I’m just pullin’ your leg, boys. Your friend didn’t do too much explainin’, after I said I’d be here all day and agreed to wait for you. What’s this for? Some kind of race?”  
   
“Something like that,” Ashton answers. He takes the note. “Thanks for this.”  
   
“No worries!”  
   
There are people around and some of them are looking in their direction with delated comprehension on their faces, and Luke knows they’re being recognized. He doesn’t feel like meeting fans at the moment, so they hurry back to Ashton’s car and drive a few blocks away, pulling over on a residential street, to read the note.  
   
 _I know we’ve never been to a bus terminal. Since I can’t exactly make you leave the city for this, I’m using this place to represent travelling. This is to remind you of all the places we’ve been together on our journey to right now. Your parents’ house. The ski resort we went to with our friends that one time. Last year, when we spent New Year’s Eve in Manhattan. The summer before that, when we spent two weeks on a beach in Costa Rica and you ended up covered in freckles from the sun. All the hotel rooms we’ve shared. All the different arenas we’ve played in together from Vancouver to Miami and L.A. to Chicago. Remember when we had a day off in Anaheim and we made out at Disney Land and laughed at that mother who yelled at us about ruining her family’s vacation? Remember the NHL awards in Vegas, when you got up on that stage and told the whole world I was your boyfriend, with your family in the audience and TV cameras broadcasting it all over the country? Remember the cabin at Christmas, just a few months ago? We almost got snowed in and I wouldn’t have cared if no one ever found us. As long as I had you, I didn’t need anything else._  
   
 _There’s only one more, and it’s at the arena. You’ll find it taped to the door of the showers._  
   
Luke remembers every one of the things Michael described, in vivid, startling color. He remembers them so clearly he could paint them, or write down every detail. He remembers how Michael looked, how they felt, how perfect it was to be with him, whether they were alone in a room or surrounded by thousands of people. It makes his stomach hurt, to think about everything they’ve shared, and how broken it all is now.  
   
“I can’t even stomach how romantic this is,” Ashton mutters, rolling his eyes and putting the car back into drive. “I’m honestly going to throw up on Michael when we see him.”  
   
He isn’t serious. Luke knows him better than that. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For him to want me back? If that’s even what he wants, I guess we still don’t know for sure.”  
   
“Hell yeah, it’s what I wanted. But it’s more important what you want.”  
   
“Is it?” Luke asks sarcastically, to distract himself from the way his pulse is thumping in his hands.  
   
“I know I’m pushy,” Ashton admits. “Because I think you belong together, and because I think _you_ think that too. If I ever believed you actually _wanted_ to stay broken up, I would have backed off.”  
   
Luke isn’t sure how to respond, so he doesn’t. They’re silent as they drive to the arena. Ashton parks the car in his assigned spot around the back, and they go in through the staff entrance and find the note where Michael said it would be; stuck to the door with a piece of clear tape. Ashton pulls it off and opens it, and they lean against the wall to read.  
   
 _This is where we kissed for the first time, even though I don’t like to count it. Does Ashton even know about that? Did you ever tell him? I’m assuming he’s with you right now. I never told Cal. This wasn’t our finest moment, in this shower room, but every moment is part of our story, even the bad ones. They’ve all led us here. When you’re ready, go out onto the ice, where we had what I like to consider our real first kiss. I’m waiting for you._  
   
“Here’s here?” Luke asks, suddenly panicked, even though Ashton won’t know the answer.  
   
“Go on.” Ashton is beaming, and he gently nudges Luke toward the tunnel that leads to the ice.  
   
Luke feels numb, and set on fire at the same time, as he slowly walks down the long, dark hallway. There are lights on at the end and Luke squints as he approaches the bench. He can see Michael and Calum on the ice, moving around fluidly in skates and street clothes. There are hockey pucks everywhere, dozens of them, littering the white surface. For a moment, Luke just watches them, trying and failing to figure out what it is they’re doing. Then Calum notices him, and clears his throat to get Michael’s attention. Michael looks up, and Calum nods in Luke’s direction, and then Michael spins around to face him. He smiles, looking shy and embarrassed and like he’s trying not to be either.  
   
“Good timing,” he says. “We just finished.”  
   
“Finished _what_?” Luke asks. His voice doesn’t sound like his own. It’s high and squeaky, and full of all the mixed emotion he’s been trying to hide from Ashton for the last hour. Just as Luke thinks of his friend, Ashton comes up beside him, looking around at the mess on the ice and seeming just as confused as Luke is.  
   
“You probably can’t see from there, you need to be higher,” Michael tells him.  
   
“Higher than what?”  
   
“Up there.” Michael points at the empty seats above Luke’s head. “Get a little higher and you’ll be able to see it.”  
   
“Okay.” Luke looks around for a moment, and then starts climbing over the glass, to get to the stands behind it.  
   
“Be careful, please!” Calum calls to him. “If you slip and break your leg, Therrien will break our necks.”  
   
Luke drops easily down to the pavement stairs, and goes up a few rows. When he gets high enough, he turns around and looks back down to the ice. The pucks, that from the bench looked like nothing but a disorganized mess of black dots, spell out _I love you to the moon and back_.  
   
*           *           *


	28. eikosiokto

“What is this?” Luke asks. Michael looks nervous, Calum has a big, excited smile on his face, and Ashton looks like he’s about to watch his children exchange wedding vows. Luke asks his roommate, “Did you know about this?”  
   
Ashton shakes his head. “No, but it’s about damn time one of you came to your senses so I can stop plotting.”  
   
“I fucking knew you didn’t ditch me at Michael’s the other day by accident.”  
   
“If my burden in life is to be your fairy god-mother, then I accept it,” Ashton says dramatically.  
   
“Come onto the ice!” Calum waves his hand towards himself.  
   
Luke goes back down the stairs and climbs back over the glass, more carefully this time because his hands are shaking, and opens the gate so he can step slowly onto the ice. Calum skates past him, grinning at him and clapping him on the arm, trading places with him and joining Ashton on the bench.  
   
“So?” Luke asks again.  
   
“Did you find all the notes?” Michael asks. His cheeks are flushed in embarrassment but he fights through it and keeps eye contact.  
   
“Yeah. That must have taken forever to set up, when you probably could have just come over and knocked on my door and said you want to get back together.” Luke laughs a bit, and then adds, “I mean. If that is what you want.”  
   
“Not … not exactly.”  
   
“Excuse me?!” Ashton shouts, from the bench. “Clifford, I will – ”  
   
“Let him finish!” Calum chuckles, playfully grabbing Ashton around the waist and sitting them both down on the wooden bench, Ashton landing in his lap.  
   
“You have about three minutes,” Ashton warns, pointing menacingly at Michael.  
   
“I don’t want us to go back to anything, because I want it to be different. This is …” Michael gestures around. “I don’t know if this is the right way to do it or not. Maybe it’s too much. I didn’t know … it’s my big, dumb way of saying that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I don’t want to live the rest of my life without you in it.”  
   
“What about everything else?” Luke worries, even as his heart screams at him to shut up and not poke holes where there don’t need to be holes. “The things your therapist said, the things you’ve been working through? I meant what I said, before. I miss you but I think working on yourself is important. I don’t want to be the reason you stop doing that.”  
   
“I’m not stopping.” Michael glides forward, graceful in his skates on the ice. “I’m getting better. My therapist has been helping me figure some things out, figure _me_ out. We’re working on deciding who I want to be, and who I don’t, and I’ve realized there are two things that mean more to me than anything. More than hockey, or money, or anything else you can think of. The first one, is that I don’t want to turn out like my dad. I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t happen. And the second one, is you.”  
   
Luke swallows.  
   
“You mean everything to me, Luke. It’s why I was willing to be miserable without you, when I thought I was protecting you from me. And it’s why I realized that … my dad never believed I deserved anything good. Happiness, love, any of those things. He still doesn’t. So if I push the people who care about me away, then he wins. I don’t want to let him win anymore.”  
   
“What about using us to hide from it?” Luke asks. His heart is beating so fast, and the words come out breathless.  
   
“I was doing that. She was right. I’d gotten really good and pretending nothing was wrong, when lots of things were wrong. I think part of me thought that if I couldn’t make everything perfect all the time, you might leave. And I’m learning how to stop doing that.”  
   
Luke nods. “That’s good. So, what do you want?”  
   
“I have no right to ask it.” Michael presses his lips together. “You had to get hurt for me to figure all this out, and that wasn’t fair.”  
   
“It wasn’t your fault,” Luke says softly.  
   
“I love you,” Michael tells him. He gestures around again, at the pucks on the ice. “I know this is dramatic and over the top, but it’s true. I made you go back to all our spots because I wanted you to remember that, and that I never stopped for a moment. And if there’s any chance you still feel the same about me, I thought maybe we could … start again.”  
   
“Are you sure?” Luke almost doesn’t dare believe it.  
   
“Yes,” Michael says instantly. “But it’s up to you. I know I messed everything up.”  
   
Every inch of Luke’s skin aches for it all to be real, so much that he’s willing to believe it is with an irresponsible lack of reservation. He goes to Michael, slipping a little on the ice in his shoes, while Ashton whistles at them. Luke cups Michael’s face in his hands. Michael smiles and hooks his arms around Luke’s waist to pull him in closer. He’s taller than Luke right now, the blades of his skates giving him height that isn’t usually there, and he tucks Luke up against his chest.  
   
“Yeah?” he asks, unsure.  
   
Luke nods. “I never stopped loving you either.”  
   
“Okay.”  
   
“It has to be different this time, right?” Luke moves the pad of his thumb over Michael’s cheek. “We can’t keep being two reckless teenagers with nothing to lose, because we’ve got shit to lose now. A lot of it.”  
   
Michael nods. “There’s a lot we gotta talk about.”  
   
“Can you do that later and just kiss him already?” Calum calls. “It’s cold in here!”  
   
Michael’s smile lights up his entire face, and Luke’s chest burns like his heart is breaking but in the best way. He presses his mouth tentatively against Michael’s, and Michael hums into his mouth and pulls him closer, kisses him deeper. Luke holds onto him so tightly, as their lips slide together and their friends holler at them happily.  
   
“I missed you so much.”  
   
“Me too.”  
   
When then break apart, Michael chases after Luke’s mouth for another kiss and then blurts out, “Will you marry me?”  
   
Luke blinks. “What?”  
   
“ _What_?!” Ashton echoes.  
   
“Michael!” Calum groans, but he’s laughing. “We had a plan!”  
   
“I have a ring,” Michael says. He looks so nervous. “I bought it before we went to Korea, I was gonna propose there and then everything went to hell. I – it isn’t here, though, fuck, I wasn’t planning on doing this now. I’m sorry, this is all wrong, you were supposed to just take me back tonight and then in a few weeks I was gonna think of something else, something even better. You deserve … I don’t know, doves, and flowers, and whatever cheesy stuff people do when they propose. I was gonna do all that.”  
   
“Are you being serious right now?” Luke breathes.  
   
“Yeah.” Michael nods and smiles apprehensively. “I can still do that. If you want. We can pretend I didn’t just ask.”  
   
Luke shakes his head, so stunned he doesn’t know how to react but so irrationally happy he could explode. “Shut up.” He kisses Michael again and gets lost in it, lost in the feel of Michael pressed against him and Michael’s hands in his hair.  
   
“ _Hey_!” Calum shouts at them. “Stop making out and answer the damn question, Hemmings! Will you marry him or not?”  
   
“Oh.” Luke laughs. It momentarily slipped his mind that he hasn’t actually answered. “Sorry. Uh, yeah. Yes.”  
   
Michael’s eyes widen. “Really?”  
   
“Yes. I wanna marry you. That way if you ever decide to leave again you’ll have to like. Hire a lawyer, and stuff. It won’t be so easy this time.”  
   
“What the fuck, that’s a terrible reason to want to marry someone!” Ashton cries. “What is wrong with you two?”  
   
Luke laughs again. “Also I love you, and shit.”  
   
Michael grins. “Okay, good. And I love you, and shit, too.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke is vibrating under his skin in Michael’s car as they drive back to the hotel. They switched – Calum went home with Ashton, and Luke with Michael. Except they aren’t going to anyone’s home, they’re going to the room Michael’s been living in for over three months rather than continue to live with Luke in the place that _was_ their home, and it’s so stupid that Luke is nervous, but he is. He’s happy, too. Happy to have Michael back next to him. Happy that maybe, after months of hoping, everything really will work out. Luke had given up on that. Still, this feels more terrifying than the first time. Back then, Luke had so little to lose. His dignity, maybe, if the team had found out about them and not been as accepting as they were. His pride, if Michael had rejected him. Nothing very important, that he wouldn’t have been able to grow back over time. This time, they both have everything to lose. Luke knows what it was like, when Michael was his, and he knows what it was like when Michael wasn’t.  
   
Calum ordered them to leave, with a twinkle in his eye instructing them to go back to Michael’s room and get reacquainted. Michael had wanted to help clean up the mess they made on the ice, but Calum wouldn’t hear of it. Ashton hugged them both so many times before they left, Calum had to physically drag him away. It happened so quickly, in a flurry of Ashton’s arms around him and Calum laughing and Michael taking his hand, and suddenly Luke was in the passenger’s seat of Michael’s car – a place that once was so familiar – before he even knew what to say.  
   
Michael reaches over and takes Luke’s hand, threading their fingers together and then bringing it back over to hold in his own lap. He keeps his eyes on the road, but squeezes Luke’s hand and lets them rest together on his leg. Luke bites his lip and swallows, and tries to keep his heart from beating so far Michael can hear it over the whir of the engine. At the arena, only minutes ago, everything seemed simpler. It was romantic, like something out of a movie, and Luke was swept up in it. Now he’s over-thinking. Now, all he feels is anxiety.  
   
Michael lets of his hand as they pull into the parking lot, but takes it again as soon as they’re both out of the car. Luke thinks he sees a flash out of the corner of his eye as they walk through the lobby, but he ignores it. Most likely, he imagined it, or it’s a tourist taking a picture of the impressive, painted ceiling; not a reporter who’s been camped out in the lobby of Michael’s hotel waiting for him to come back. If it is a reporter, Luke doesn’t want them to get a good shot. They’re both silent in the elevator on the way up, but Michael’s thumb slowly strokes the back of Luke’s hand. He has to let go of it again to unlock his door, and flick some lights on. Luke sort of wishes he hadn’t. It was bright enough in the room before, the blue glow from the city below shining through the open windows. The spring breeze floating in is warm, and damp. It rained earlier.  
   
Realizing he hasn’t looked at Michael since they left the rink, Luke does, and finds Michael watching him closely. Luke tries to smile, and move in for a kiss, but Michael stops him.  
   
“You don’t want …?” Luke asks; confused. He thought that’s what they came back here to do.  
   
Michael takes both of Luke’s hands in his and leads him to the couch. He kisses Luke’s cheek as they sit, and then he says, “I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”  
   
Luke shakes his head. He’s being stupid, and he knows it. “It’s nothing.”  
   
“It’s not nothing,” Michael argues gently.  
   
Luke drops his gaze, and struggles to find the words. “This just feels … so big. So important. I don’t know, I’m … I’m afraid to fuck it up.”  
   
Michael moves just a bit closer to him. He holds Luke’s cheeks in his hands and kisses his forehead, underneath his left eye, the bridge of his nose. “If anyone’s gonna fuck it up, it’s me. Historically speaking.”  
   
He’s joking, to cut the tension, but his words are sad as well, and Luke hates it. “That’s not what I meant.”  
   
“I know.”  
   
“I guess I just … for so long, you and I felt like this thing that was so strong, like this big brick wall that nothing in the world could knock over. Especially after the stuff we went through with your dad. I felt like we were bulletproof, like there was nothing we couldn’t handle. Now it just feels … fragile.”  
   
“I know,” Michael says again. “If … it’s okay if you’ve changed your mind – ”  
   
“No,” Luke interrupts. He leans forward to kiss Michael properly this time. “I haven’t. I want you, more than anything. It just feels like such a huge deal, this time. It’s scary because it means so much.”  
   
“I’m nervous,” Michael admits, and Luke is so glad he did.  
   
“Me too.”  
   
“And excited.”  
   
“Me too.”  
   
“Can I …?” Michael gestures at Luke’s thighs, and Luke nods and lets Michael crawl into his lap, his knees bracketing Luke’s hips. He brushes the curls off Luke’s forehead with his fingers, and then dips down to kiss him. Luke’s worries dissolve in that kiss. To Luke, it feels like broken pieces sliding back into place.  
   
He squeezes handfuls of Michael’s shirt over his back, breathless by the way Michael moves slowly against him. “You’re gonna check out of this place tomorrow, right?” Luke asks. “You’re coming home?”  
   
Michael nods. “Yes. Although, maybe not _tomorrow_. Ashton will need a week or two to move out. And we’ve got a cup to win.”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “No. Tomorrow. I don’t care if your stuff stays in boxes in the living room until after the final. I don’t care if it’s a few weeks before Ash can get all his stuff back across the hall to Cal’s. I’m not going to sleep in that bed again unless you’re there with me.”  
   
Something significant passes across Michael’s features; his eyes shining with unspoken words, but he nods again and doesn’t argue. “Okay.”  
   
“For so long I didn’t think we’d ever be there together again.”  
   
Michael’s kiss is poignant and full of things he doesn’t need to say out loud. “Tomorrow, I promise. I want to come home. But it could be anywhere, you know that, right? You could move in here with me, we could buy a houseboat, we could live in a tent. I wouldn’t care. It’s not about the building. It’s not about furniture and dishes and pictures of us on the walls. My home is wherever you are.”  
   
Luke closes his eyes and holds Michael against him, Michael’s face close to his and his heart beating quickly under Luke’s fingers when he slides his hand up Michael’s chest.  
   
“Let me prove it to you?” Michael whispers.  
   
“I believe you.”  
   
“Let me prove we aren’t fragile, then. We’re a little bent, but not broken. You and I could never be broken.”  
   
Luke nods, and lets Michael lead him into the bedroom. In here, Michael doesn’t turn the lights on, and when he pulls his shirt up over his head, the pale light from the streetlamps makes his skin glow. Luke takes his own shirt off. His pulse is speeding and his hands are shaking as they fumble with the button on his jeans.  
   
“Luke.”  
   
He looks up to find Michael staring at his middle. “What?”  
   
Michael holds out his hand, and Luke takes it and lets Michael pull him in. Wordlessly, Michael undoes Luke’s jeans and pushes them down just an inch or two – still staring. It takes Luke a moment to understand what Michael’s looking at; he had briefly forgotten about the tattoo.  
   
“Oh.”  
   
“When did you …?”  
   
“A while ago. After we got back.”  
   
Michael touches the spot low on Luke’s hip with soft, reverent fingertips, and Luke shivers. “Isn’t the Olympics filled with bad memories, now?”  
   
Luke pushes his jeans down the rest of the way, and then helps Michael out of his as well. He leads Michael to the bed, pushing the blankets back and climbing in. Once they’re horizontal, Luke kisses him and says, “Some bad memories. I got it so I’d remember the good ones. Being an Olympic athlete. Something not that many people can say they’ve done. The feeling of being in the parade of athletes at the opening ceremonies. All those flashing lights and more people than I’ve ever seen all in one place.”  
   
Michael hums in agreement.  
   
Pushing off the mattress with one foot, Luke rolls on top of him and presses small kisses into Michael’s neck while he continues. “Our friends flying to the other side of the world to watch us play. Coming home with an Olympic medal, even if it’s a silver. Being part of something so much bigger than ourselves.”  
   
Michael’s arms circle around Luke’s waist, and Luke rocks slowly down into him, feeling Michael hard against his hip and dizzy with the blood in his own body moving to between his legs.  
   
“The night we went up the mountain.” Luke kisses Michael’s bottom lip and gets lost in it for a moment when Michael holds him there and kisses him back. “The way you looked at me, when you promised you’d always protect me.”  
   
“I broke that promise.”  
   
“No.” Luke kisses Michael’s eyelids and slides his thumb over Michael’s cheek, repeating the words Michael spoke only a few minutes earlier. “Bent, not broken. You and I could never be broken.”  
   
“What do you want?” Michael asks. “Tonight, I mean.”  
   
“Everything,” Luke whispers.  
   
“Yeah? ‘Cause we don’t have to.”  
   
“I want to. If you do.”  
   
Michael nods. He gently pushes Luke off, and gets up to head for the bathroom. Luke wriggles out of his boxers while he’s alone, tossed them to the floor and then curling his fingers over himself and stroking it slowly. It’s been so long since he’s done even this, that his own touch has tremors crawling through his veins. When it feels like Michael’s been gone for too long, Luke opens his eyes, and then blushes when he finds Michael leaning against the bathroom doorframe, watching.  
   
“Stop perving and come back here,” Luke laughs, holding his hand out.  
   
Michael shakes his head slowly, like he’s in awe, and steps out of his own boxers before he climbs back onto the bed. He kisses up Luke’s chest, capturing his lips in another kiss and then murmuring, “You’re so fucking beautiful. Still can’t believe you’re mine.”  
   
“Look who’s talking,” Luke returns playfully, attempting to cover the way Michael’s words unzip something inside him.  
   
“Do you remember the very first time?” Michael asks softly. His hands wander as he speaks, finding Luke’s cock and sliding his fingers over it.   
   
Luke’s hips twitch up into Michael’s hand. “Yeah. We just rubbed against each other like dumb teenagers.”  
   
“We were teenagers,” Michael reminds him. “And it wasn’t dumb. It was perfect.”  
   
“You were experienced. I was embarrassed that I wasn’t.” Luke’s voice catches in his throat when Michael’s thumb swipes over the slit of his cock, through the mess that is leaking from it.  
   
“Do you think I cared about that?” Michael’s laugh is shaky, and the kisses he leaves on Luke’s collarbones are wet and messy. “You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It blew my mind that you wanted me back. It still does.”  
   
“You were like a magnet,” Luke tells him. “Something I never knew I was missing, until I found you. I never stood a chance.”  
   
“Fuck me, okay?” Michael says into Luke’s mouth, pushing a tube into his hand. “I wanna be yours again.”  
   
Luke nods and rolls them over, getting Michael underneath him and moving down, leaving kisses on Michael’s chest as he does like Michael had just been doing to him. Michael’s stomach flutters underneath Luke’s lips; hard muscle under just a bit of boyish softness that Michael’s never outgrown. Luke wouldn’t want him any other way. He takes Michael into his mouth as he slides fingers into his body, relearning everything like muscle memory; the way Michael tastes, the way he likes to be touched, the way it feels inside to hear him moan and know Luke is the one who made it happen. Michael is sweaty and panting by the time Luke has three fingers buried inside him, and Luke’s head is spinning, his whole body thrumming with want and need and the intoxicating way the noises that spill from Michael’s lips slide down Luke’s spine like melted honey.  
   
When he stops, and crawls back up to hover over Michael, he’s met with the sight of red lips and flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. Michael looks ruined, and perfect. Luke kisses him, letting Michael taste his own flavour on Luke’s tongue.  
   
“Okay?” Luke asks.  
   
“Yeah,” Michael breathes. “C’mon.”  
   
Luke slides into him slowly, and Michael gasps and arches up. Luke swallows the noise up with another kiss. The warmth and pressure envelopes him, has him moaning back into Michael’s mouth, while Michael’s hands move over Luke’s back, blunt fingernails digging into skin, urging him to move. Luke does; falling so easily back into their practiced rhythm, like no time has passed at all. Until just this moment, Luke hadn’t known how much he needed the reassurance of being able to pick up right where they left off. Like they were just on pause for a while, and now they’re back.  
   
“It’s just like before, right?” Michael murmurs, echoing Luke’s thoughts. “It’s important, and everything you said, but at the same time it’s just … us.”  
   
“It isn’t _just_ anything,” Luke argues, overwhelmed by it all but in a different way, now, than he was in the car. “It’s everything.”  
   
Michael flips them over, pushing Luke down into the mattress and grinding on top of him, and it’s frantic but still slow; desperate but meaningful. His hips fit so nicely in Luke’s hands. Michael reaches between them to stoke himself, his knuckles bumping against Luke’s stomach as he does, until Luke bats his hand away and replaces it with his own. He twists his wrist around the head, just to hear Michael swear softly under his breath. Michael’s hands go instead into Luke’s hair as they roll back, Luke on top again, pushing his hips against Michael’s and floating in the feeling. Nothing compares to this, and he’s convinced nothing could.  
   
Michael whispers Luke’s name, quiet and rough, and Luke understands what it means. He shoves one hand under Michael’s back and pulls him, angling his hips so he can find the spot, his stomach flipping over itself when Michael cries out to indicate Luke found it. He bites gently at the spot where Michael’s neck meets his shoulder, fucking into him as Michael mumbles a chorus of _right there_ and Luke slides his fist over Michael’s cock, uncoordinated but enough to throw him over the edge. He clenches around Luke’s cock and Luke sees stars, rolling his own hips a few more times and then groaning as he follows Michael into oblivion.  
   
Sticky and sweaty and so happy he could yell about it from actual rooftops, Luke collapses onto the mattress beside Michael and pulls his boyfriend into his arms. Then, his brain reminds him of the word _fiancé_ , and Luke laughs happily.  
   
“What?” Michael laughs too.  
   
“I said I’d marry you,” Luke giggles.  
   
Michael makes an offended noise. “Why is that funny?”  
   
“It isn’t.” Luke kisses the side of his face. “It isn’t funny. I’m just happy.”  
   
Michael huffs about it but cuddles into Luke anyway.  
   
“What was the first thing you ever thought about me?” Luke asks.  
   
“I don’t remember, it was three years ago,” Michael complains, but he’s happy too. Luke can hear it in his voice.  
   
“Your general first impression, then.”  
   
Michael smiles into Luke’s neck. “Something along the lines of, holy fuck he’s hot.”  
   
“Really?”  
   
“And something along the lines of, I bet this asshole is gonna ruin my life.” Michael kisses under Luke’s ear. “I was kinda right. You just ruined it in a better way than I thought you would. I figured you’d be a straight boy that I’d fall for but could never have.”  
   
“Instead I fell for you right back.”  
   
“Mmhm.”  
   
“I’m pretty sure that was what I thought when I first met you, too.”  
   
“You didn’t know you liked guys yet, the first time we met.”  
   
“I mean.” Luke turns his head a little, his cheek rests against Michael’s forehead. “I sorta did. I’d had the feelings, I’d had the maybe moments. I just didn’t want to be, so I always took those thoughts and reworked them in my head.”  
   
“Like what?”  
   
“Well. Like when I met you. I thought I only found you interesting because you were famous, but I was … I couldn’t stop thinking about how you looked. I was obsessed with, like, your hair, and your tattoos and piercings and ripped jeans. And I told myself that it was just because you didn’t look like any hockey player I’d ever seen before, that I was fascinated with you like a scientist or something.”  
   
“I was your research subject?” Michael laughs.  
   
Luke grins. “Exactly. Looking back now, that’s so stupid. I think even then I knew it wasn’t true, I knew I was attracted to you, even though you were kind of a dick. I just didn’t want it to be that, so I found a way to make it something else.”  
   
“You thought I was fucking hot too, huh?”  
   
“Yeah, I did.”  
   
For a while, they sink into comfortable silence. Luke strokes Michael’s upper arm. Michael nuzzles into his neck, kissing his skin and then leaving his lips resting there. It’s warm and comfortable, and still sharply familiar after the three month drought, and Luke never wants to move again.  
   
“I think this is what I missed the most,” Luke murmurs, still trailing his fingers feather-light up and down Michael’s arm.  
   
“Not the sex?” Michael jokes.  
   
Luke pretends to think about it for a moment. “No, I missed that too. I like that a lot.”  
   
“I noticed.”  
   
“Shut up,” Luke laughs. “I mean it, though. I love everything about being with you but this is the best part. When you’re in my arms.”  
   
“Why?”  
   
“Because when you’re here, I can keep you safe.”  
   
Michael is silent for a minute, and then he says, “The old me probably would have made that into a joke somehow, or complained that I didn’t need to be protected. But sometimes I do need it, so I guess the new me can just thank you for being there for me, always.”  
   
“I always will be,” Luke whispers, into Michael’s hair, and he’s so proud of him he could burst.  
   
“You gotta move, though, my arm’s going numb.”  
   
Luke smiles, and loosens his hold so Michael can roll onto his back. Luke chases after him, pressing kisses to Michael’s jaw.  
   
“You know what this reminds me of?” Michael asks. His lips catch and drag against Luke’s forehead.  
   
Luke shifts, so he’s lying half on top of Michael, his head pillowed on Michael’s chest. The lights from the city outside leave twisted patterns in shadows on Michael’s stomach, and Luke traces them with his fingertips. “Tell me.”  
   
“That time when we first started dating.” Michael’s fingers move in circles on Luke’s bare back. “We had a day off. You lied to Ashton about an old friend being in town so you could come over, and we spent the whole day in my bed but we didn’t have sex or anything, we just lied there.”  
   
Luke smiles. He remembers. “Talked all day long. Kissed until our lips went numb.”  
   
“I was so hard at one point I thought I was gonna die,” Michael chuckles. “We’d been making out for like an hour. You were rubbing up against me. It was all … brand new, and electric. Felt like I couldn’t remember how to breathe properly that whole day.”  
   
“Definitely one of the best days of my life.”  
   
“I think it was the best day of my life, at the time.”  
   
“What about now?”  
   
Michael kisses Luke’s forehead again. “I don’t have a list or anything, but today is pretty good.”  
   
“I was so blown away by you, back then.” Luke turns his head to kiss the soft, pale skin under his cheek. “You were so cool, and confident, everything about you just seemed so effortless. And you were a star. You could’ve walked into any bar in the city and taken your pick. I couldn’t believe you wanted me.”  
   
“You were perfect,” Michael murmurs. His hand comes up and his fingers slip into Luke’s hair. “Young and innocent and optimistic and trusting, everything I’d forgotten how to be. You were this bright light and I was so scared I’d ruin you. But I wanted you so badly. I thought maybe a bit of your sparkle might rub off on me, make me better.”  
   
Luke tilts his head up to find Michael’s mouth. Their lips slide together, slow and easy. “It went both ways. You taught me it’s okay to be who I am. I don’t know who I’d be today if we’d never met. You never cared for a second what anyone thought of you. I admire that so much.”  
   
Michael’s hand curls around the back of Luke’s neck and doesn’t let go; keeps him close.  
   
“Can I tell you something?” Luke asks.  
   
Michael nods.  
   
“Do you remember when you told me about that guy you were with before me? The one you let fuck you because you were scared he’d leave if you said no?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“Listening to you say that was one of the worst moments of my life. It still is. Right up there with the day your dad hit you with the car, and breaking up in Korea.”  
   
“Seems a bit small, compared to those things.”  
   
“It isn’t.” Luke kisses him again. “Because it should never have happened. The world hasn’t been fair to you, Michael. I think sometimes I forget that, and I expect too much from you.”  
   
“I’m better than I was, a few months ago,” Michael says.  
   
“Good. I’m so happy to hear it.”  
   
“I’ve got a ways to go, but … I’m trying, Luke. And I am getting better. Don’t give up on me, okay? I’ll get there, I’ll … one day, I’ll be someone who deserves you.”  
   
“You deserve me now,” Luke insists. He kisses Michael’s cheek, the bridge of his nose, the corner of his mouth.  
   
“My shit has cost us so much.”  
   
“Please don’t think about it like that. Nothing that happened to you was your fault. You’re getting help, now, you’re dealing with it. That’s all anybody could ask of you. And you don’t have to be bright sparkly silver all the time to be deserving of love,” Luke whispers. “You can have shades of darkness and still be everything I need.”  
   
“I love you,” Michael whispers back.  
   
“I love you more. And I’m so proud of you.”  
   
“Thank you.”  
   
“Can I tell you something else?”  
   
Michael nods.  
   
“I understand something, now, in a way I didn’t before. When we were in this room before, and you told me about seeing a therapist and all the stuff you were trying to deal with. At first it was like …” Luke pauses, to sort his thoughts out in his head before he speaks them. “Since I found out about your dad, all I’ve wanted to do is fix you. To put back together all the things that he broke. And when you said that you were still unhappy, after so long, I felt like I’d failed.”  
   
“You didn’t.”  
   
“Just … let me finish. At first, I felt like, if I’d done more, if I’d just loved you _better_ then you would’ve been okay. I get that I was wrong, now. I get that … that love isn’t like it is in stories, where everyone’s problems disappear as soon as somebody pulls out a ring. It isn’t a magic spell that can heal everything. People come with baggage, and being in love is great but it doesn’t erase everything else that happened to you up until that point. There are some things it can’t heal, and it was wrong of both of us to expect that it would.”  
   
“Do you really want to marry me?” Michael asks. “You didn’t just say yes because Cal and Ash were there?”  
   
Luke shakes his head slowly, and his nose bumps against Michael’s. “I definitely didn’t say yes just because they were there. I said yes because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to have ten thousand days where we do nothing but lie in bed. I want to wake up next to you every morning, until one of us dies.”  
   
Michael laughs. “So romantic.”  
   
“What can I say, I’m a romantic guy.” Luke rolls onto his back again and pulls Michael with him. Michael curls against Luke’s side, pushing his face into the crook of Luke’s neck. Under his arm, Luke can see the black of his tattoo, and he touches the spot with his fingers. Then, something occurs to him, as he looks at the curvy letters and thinks about what Michael wrote in pucks on the ice this afternoon. “Why doesn’t this say _and back_?”  
   
Michael looks up. “Hm?”  
   
“This.” Luke taps at it with his fingers. “I don’t know why I never noticed until just now. Your mom used to say she loved you to the moon and back. Why did you stop at _to the moon_?”  
   
Michael’s head goes softly back down to Luke’s chest, and it’s a long moment before he says, “Because she can’t come back.”  
   
“What?” Luke whispers, with a horrible pit in his stomach all of a sudden.  
   
“I know it’s kinda stupid. I got it a few days after she died. Cal helped me fake a note for permission from my dad because I was underage. I don’t think the guy in the shop cared, as long as I had the money for it. I was gonna get the whole thing but then … I don’t know. In a fit of teenage angst I decided that since she was gone and she _couldn’t_ come back, I’d leave that bit off.”  
   
Luke doesn’t know what to say. He kisses the spot between Michael’s eyes instead.  
   
“I wish you could’ve met her. She would’ve loved you.”  
   
“Maybe there’s another world after this one.” Luke locks his arms around Michael. “Maybe I’ll get to meet her someday.”  
   
Michael exhales. “I hope so.”  
   
“I know all the best parts of her already. They’re all in you.”  
   
“See, you are romantic,” Michael jokes, but his voice wavers.  
   
“I just love you a lot.”  
   
“Me too.”  
   
They fall into comfortable, easy silence again. Michael’s hand travels up Luke’s chest and settles over his collarbone, just the tips of his fingers curled over Luke’s shoulder. He sighs, and Luke feels it, Michael’s breath tickling his neck. Luke lets his eyes close, and lets his mind drift off into hazy, half-formed thoughts of falling asleep like this every night for the rest of their forever. Then he feels something cold on his chest, and after a moment he realizes it’s wet, too.  
   
“Baby?” Luke asks softly.  
   
Michael sniffs and shakes his head. “Sorry. This is why therapy sucks so much. I always end up crying when I talk about things too much. My doctor says it’s because I kept it buried for so long.”  
   
Luke nudges him gently, rearranging their positions so they can face each other on the pillow. Michael’s eyes are glassy; a few shiny lines on his cheeks. Luke brushes the tears away with the pad of his thumb and then threads his fingers into Michael’s hair.  
   
“Hi,” he whispers.  
   
Michael closes his eyes. “Hey.”  
   
“It’s okay,” Luke tells him.  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
“Yeah.” Luke kisses his forehead. He doesn’t push anymore. He just lies with Michael until his breathing slows again, and then Luke changes the subject. “I’m starving.”  
   
Michael nods. “Me too.”  
   
“How much do you think we’d have to pay someone to deliver a pizza to us in this bed? So we don’t have to get up?”  
   
“It probably smells like sex in here,” Michael giggles. It makes Luke’s chest ache in a good way to see him smile. “And we’re kinda famous, so mostly we’d have to pay the guy to keep quiet about it. And probably a lot.”  
   
Luke smiles too. “Fine. I’ll order one and go down to the lobby and pick it up.”  
   
“You know that requires putting pants on, right?”  
   
“The things I do for you.” Luke shakes his head, and kisses the tip of Michael’s nose. “Okay, so we’ll refuel. Then what?”  
   
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t really feel like getting up until at least tomorrow.” Michael rolls half of top of Luke and kisses him playfully. “So I say we eat a bunch of pizza, right here, and then push the leftovers onto the carpet and have a cheesy, tomato-saucy round two.”  
   
Luke laughs. “Covered in pizza grease?”  
   
“Sounds beautiful, right?”  
   
Luke hums in agreement. He hugs his arms around Michael’s waist and kisses him back, deepening it, feeling blood stirring in himself again and Michael not quite soft anymore against his leg. “Maybe a quick round one-and-a-half first?”  
   
Michael grins and sticks his tongue in Luke’s mouth before asking, “You think you’ve got three in you?”  
   
“It’s been months,” Luke scoffs. “I think I’ve got ten in me.”  
   
“Sexy.”  
   
“Shut up and kiss me.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
Three days later, they’re in St. Louis, playing in Luke’s first Stanley Cup Final game. The atmosphere is unlike anything Luke has ever experienced. The crowd, even though they’re rooting for their own team instead of Luke’s, is electric. Luke can’t wait to play the third and fourth games of the series in Montreal. The Bell Centre is known for being one of the loudest buildings in the league, and there have been times where it was so deafening that Luke’s ears were ringing for days after a game. He can’t imagine their fans being any louder, but he knows they will be. They’re all going to need hearing aids by the time they’re 40.  
   
Luke is sent out in the starting lineup, with Michael as the center to take the faceoff. The two of them don’t often play together on the same line, unless they’re on a power-play. Brendan is on the right, P.K. and Nathan behind them on defense, and Carey in the net.  
   
Last night, when they’d all settled into their various rooms at the hotel where they take up an entire floor, Ashton called a team meeting in his room. Players only, no coaching staff allowed. It was a tight squeeze to get them all into one room but they piled in, and were treated to one of Ashton’s finer captain speeches, about teamwork, and adversity, and how much they all deserve this, and how he would take a bullet for every guy in the room and he knows they would do the same for him. Luke watched and listened with fierce admiration lighting him up. Ashton is such an incredible leader. There isn’t anyone else in the world Luke would rather have as a captain. After he finished, they chatted informally, supporting each other and getting fired up as a unit. At one point, Michael casually reached over and took Luke’s hand, something he’s done a million times before so neither of them thought anything of it until Brendan pointed at them from across the room and started yelling.  
   
“What is that!” he exclaimed.  
   
“Oh.” Luke had looked down at Michael’s hand in his, and realized they hadn’t yet announced their reconciliation to the rest of their team. Everything happened so quickly. Three days ago, Michael was asking Luke to marry him and spelling out his love in pucks on the ice in Montreal, and then they were expected at official team meetings and one last practice and then whisked off to Missouri, where they now sat on the floor of Ashton’s room holding hands with thirty pairs of eyes looking at them topped by thirty pairs of raised eyebrows.  
   
“Yeah, we, uh.” Michael stammered. “We’re back together.”  
   
“What?!” Brendan practically screamed.  
   
“When the fuck did that happen?” P.K. boomed.  
   
“Literally like two days ago,” Michael said.  
   
“When were you gonna say something?” Max demanded. “In case you haven’t actually noticed we’ve been a bit divided as a team since you two decided to throw a wrench in everything, and now we’re about to play one of the most important games of our lives and you didn’t think this might be a good time to let us know things are back to normal?”  
   
“We didn’t want to make a big thing out of it.” Luke could feel himself blushing all the way down his chest. Nobody would look away – it was like being caught on stage with his pants down.  
   
“It’s a huge thing!” Brendan cried; still so loud. His face was split in the biggest smile Luke had ever seen.  
   
“It’s even more than that,” Ashton said, grinning and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Can I tell them? Actually fuck it, you two put me through enough this year, I don’t care what you want. I’m telling them. Michael asked Luke to marry him.”  
   
The room had erupted.  
   
The sight of the linesman with his hand in the air brings Luke back to the moment. He leans down, his stick grasped in his hands and resting on his knees. The other players assemble around the center mark for the face-off, and Luke watches Michael skate into the circle, staring at his opposing center with laser focus and determination. The whistle blows, the fans cheer, and the puck drops. Michael wins it, snapping it behind himself where P.K. picks it up, and it all begins.  
   
Michael scores two goals in that first game, although they don’t win it. They do take the second one. A vicious hit at center ice leaves Nathan with a broken wrist, and the whole team furious that he won’t be able to play for what remains of the year. The third game, back in Montreal, is just as loud and crazy as Luke expected. Every round of the playoffs has been more intense than the last, and the final few games are manic and lightning-fast and frantic and more fun than Luke has ever had in his life. In the fourth game, Michael blocks a slap-shot and misses a few shifts walking it off, before he gets back out onto the ice and plays through the pain. He’s fine, when the game is over, but there is a nasty bruise on his thigh that makes Luke’s stomach churn to look at. Michael brushes it off, and reminds Luke that they won, and Carey led them to a shut-out, and by this point they’re all bruised. He isn’t wrong. Luke has many.  
   
In the fifth game, back in St. Louis with the Canadiens leading the series 3-1, Luke scores in the first period off a wicked pass from Calum. Celebrating with him on the ice, Luke is so happy he could burst into flames. During the second period, he’s chasing a puck into the corner when he’s unexpectedly slammed into the boards, so hard it knocks the wind out of him, and when he tries to jump back up off nothing but adrenaline, he stumbles, and a sharp pain explodes in his shoulder.  
   
“Fuck,” he hisses, falling back onto the ice.  
   
“Are you hurt?” Max asks him, and then motions at their bench without waiting for an answer.  
   
“I’m fine,” Luke grinds out, but he isn’t. He sees double as trainers rush out to help him to his feet and off the ice. As Luke reaches the bench, he sees Michael standing out of the corner of his eye, and there’s still half a game to play. Luke yells at him, trying to be heard over the roar of the crowd because Michael is a few yards away from him, “I’m okay, sit down!”  
   
Michael frowns and he calls something back, that Luke can’t hear.  
   
“Stay where you are, I mean it!” Luke snaps, and Michael listens and doesn’t follow Luke and the trainers down the tunnel.  
   
They strip Luke’s jersey and equipment off and determine his shoulder is dislocated, and it hurts like hell when they pop it back in but then the pain fades into a dull ache and Luke can move his arm again. They don’t want to let him continue the game but Luke doesn’t ask for their permission before redressing himself and marching right back onto the ice. He’s come this far, and been through so much with this team, there is nothing short of a severed limb that is going to keep him from winning that cup with them.  
   
The last period of the final game is the most tense, exciting, terrible, wonderful hour of Luke’s life. They’re up by one goal, and then they’re tied again, and then five minutes before the final buzzer Ashton redirects a bullet of a shot from P.K. at the line, and it goes in off the goalie’s left pad, and Luke screams and jumps up and down with everyone else on the bench, gloved hands grabbing his jersey and the coaching staff cheering and whacking them all on the shoulders from behind. Luke is so stressed for the next few minutes, watching the clock run down and desperate with his teammates to hold onto their small, easily losable lead, but they do it. Time runs out and the buzzer sounds and they’ve won, taken the series in six games so they’re on home ice in Montreal, and Luke can’t even hear his own yelling over the thunderous crowd.  
   
They all burst over the boards and fly towards Carey, jumping onto him one by one in an enormous, ridiculous pile. There are streamers cascading down from the ceiling, and music that is barely audible over the crowd. When the cup comes out, enormous and shiny silver and iconic, Luke can hardly contain himself. Every hockey player in the world dreams about one day hoisting that cup over their heads, and Luke’s never seen it in person, and it’s heavier than he thought it would be, which is what everyone says, but in that moment it feels lighter than air. As they celebrate, people start filing onto the ice – their general manager and other staff members, wives and children of Luke’s teammates, reporters with cameras and microphones. In a sea of guys picking up their kids for hugs and kissing their wives with television cameras in their faces, Michael comes over and pulls Luke unceremoniously into a hard kiss, where anyone and everyone could see.  
   
Luke is laughing breathlessly when Michael pulls away, finding pure joy in Michael’s green eyes. “That’ll make headlines tomorrow.”  
   
“Probably. Do you care?”  
   
“Nope. You?”  
   
“Not one bit.”  
   
*           *           *


	29. eikosienia

_ _

_Six months later_  
   
Slowly, Luke stirs and his mind sluggishly pulls his body to consciousness. He tries to open his eyes a few times before they’ll stay open for longer than a second, and then when Michael stirs next to him, Luke gives up and turns into him and allows himself to be dragged back down into half-sleep. Michael’s arm moves, wrapping around Luke’s waist and weakly tugging him in closer. With closed eyes, they find each other and lazily shift until they’re slotted together. Michael’s face ends up pushed against Luke’s neck, and the scratch of his unshaven cheeks is rough against Luke’s skin.  
   
“Morning,” Michael whispers to him, lips finding Luke’s collar bone.  
   
“I wish it wasn’t.” Luke kisses Michael’s hair. It’s bright crimson red again. Michael asked a few weeks ago what color it should be for the wedding. Red is Luke’s favorite on Michael, because it’s the color he fell in love with, almost exactly three years ago. “Wish we could stay here all day.”  
   
“We did that yesterday,” Michael reminds him. “If we lie here much longer I might permanently lose the use of my legs.”  
   
Luke hums, and remembers all the fun they had yesterday, leaving their bed only to eat and turn the heat down. Even with frigid December winds whipping past their windows, they kept each other more than warm enough.  
   
Kellin meows softly from the foot of their bed, climbing off of Michael’s legs at the sound of his humans waking up and crawling over to curl up between them. Luke abandons playing with Michael’s hair to scratch Kellin’s head instead, smiling when the purring begins and he vibrates against Luke’s hand. Michael reaches down to pet him as well, and Luke threads his fingers into Michael’s. In just a few days, there will be metal rings on their fingers, that will press into Luke’s skin when he squeezes Michael’s hand. The day after Michael proposed, he’d given Luke the ring he bought before they left for Korea. It was silver, shiny and simple because Luke doesn’t like flashy things, but Luke decided he didn’t want to wear it until Michael had one too. They went back to the jewellery boutique where Michael bought it and had an identical one made up, and now the two of them are sitting in a box on a shelf in their closet, waiting to be exchanged with their vows on Sunday.  
   
“You ready for today?” Luke asks, sort of unnecessarily. Michael has an appointment with his therapist in a few hours, and he’s never really ready because it’s never easy, although he always goes and tries and Luke is always so proud of him. Today, Luke’s going with him. He’s done it a couple of times in the last few months, and with the wedding only days away, Michael wanted him to come one last time. He is so serious about making it work, between them, and in a strange way Luke thinks it’s the most romantic thing he’s ever done, in a long list of over-the-top romantic gestures because Michael loves to be dramatic even though he would deny the accusation if Luke made it.  
   
“I’ll get through it,” Michael answers. “Promise to still love me, even if I ugly cry?”  
   
Luke lets go of Michael’s hand and strokes Michael’s cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “I don’t really need to promise that anymore, do I?”  
   
Michael shakes his head, but smiles. “No. I believe it. We should put that in our vows.”  
   
He’s joking, now, and Luke smiles too. “I promise to love you even if you get snot on me.”  
   
Michael cuddles back in, and slowly the smile slips off his face. He isn’t upset, but he’s overthinking. Luke can feel it, like the energy coming off Michael’s body just changed color.  
   
“What’s the capital of Bosnia?” Luke asks.  
   
It’s a game they play. A long time ago, Michael told Luke that after his mom died, sometimes he used to distract himself from the grief by memorizing things. Capital cities, the official languages of all the countries in the world, all the lakes in Canada in order of size. It took minimal effort when he was exhausted and was repetitive enough to be relaxing and get him out of his own head, even if only for a while. Now, when he gets trapped in thoughts, Luke quizzes him.  
   
“Its official title is Bosnia and Herzegovina,” Michael says, smiling again. “And its capital is Sarajevo.”  
   
“Tell me what the flag looks like.”  
   
“Blue and yellow. Kind of like … triangles, with a diagonal line of white stars down the middle.”  
   
“Population?”  
   
“About 3.5 million.” Michael looks up and leans forward to press his lips against Luke’s. “I’m okay, though. Thank you, but I’m okay.”  
   
“We should probably get up,” Luke says, regretting it before it’s even happened. He loves lazy mornings with Michael, when they’re both warm and touching and don’t have to be up before the sun to get to the arena by half past six. They’re rarer than Luke would like, although the early starts to cold winter days are one of the very few things he doesn’t love about his job. There’s only one more practice and one more game before they break for Christmas, and on the day before Christmas Eve he’ll be married to the person he loves more than he would have believed possible before they met. Things are good.  
   
“I’m gonna shower.” Michael stretches, kisses Luke’s cheek, and slowly climbs over him to get out of their bed.  
   
Luke keeps thinking they should rearrange the furniture and put the bed more in the middle of the room so one of them isn’t always trapped against the wall. He keeps thinking it, but so far hasn’t done anything about it.  
   
“Hey.”  
   
Luke looks up, and sees Michael standing in the doorway, looking at him with a frown twisting his forehead. “What?”  
   
“Are you coming?”  
   
“Oh.” Luke chuckles, and gets up too, ignoring a dissatisfied mewl from Kellin who gets bounced around on the bed. “I didn’t know you showering required my participation.”  
   
Michael smirks at him. “Well you should have.”  
   
He pulls his shirt off as he walks down the hall ahead of Luke, and Luke catches up to him and wraps his arms around Michael’s waist.  
   
*           *           *  
   
The waiting room outside Dr. Schwartzman’s office is designed to make patients feel more comfortable – with pastel walls and plants and soft chairs – but it always makes Luke feel uneasy. Until the first time he came here with Michael, he’d never been in a therapist’s office before, and for everything he promised Michael about it being okay and normal and nothing to be ashamed of, the minute Luke walked into this room the first time he understood why stigmas exist. He wasn’t even coming here for his own mental health and he still felt nervous and on guard and defensive, like he was waiting to run into someone from his past who would mock him, even though he grew up in a different country so the likelihood of that happening was miniscule. Once their session started, Luke felt apprehensive about everything he said, constantly throwing sideways glances at Michael’s petit, brunette doctor and waiting for her to pounce on him and uncover some deep, painful secret that Luke didn’t know he was repressing.  
   
He was being ridiculous, and it didn’t take too long for him to figure that out. They just talked – mostly Michael and his doctor but Luke chimed in now and then when prompted – and she helped Michael work through the things he’d been struggling with. Luke found himself watching his fiancé in awe. Michael struggled sometimes to get the words out but he fought through it. Luke was captivated by him, how brave he was, how much he’d been through, how determined he was to not let it ruin the rest of his life.  
   
Today, there is an older woman sitting across from them, waiting for her own doctor, and Luke holds Michael’s hand on the armrest of the chair and doesn’t care that she’s looking. She doesn’t seem to recognize them, and doesn’t seem upset that they’re touching, but curious enough to stare. Although, given her age, it’s possible she’s staring at Michael’s hair and tattoos and earrings. He’s a bit of a shock to the system sometimes for people older than 50. Either way, Luke ignores it.  
   
“Any idea where the boys are taking us tonight?” Luke asks Michael.  
   
Michael shakes his head and smiles. “Cal told me they basically let Gally plan the whole thing.”  
   
Luke groans. “ _Why_.”  
   
“No idea. It’ll probably be crazy but we’ll definitely have a ton of fun.”  
   
“We have stuff to do tomorrow,” Luke reminds him. “We can’t be so hungover that we can’t function.”  
   
The woman across from them sniffs.  
   
“Whatever Brendan does to us, I definitely wanna remember it,” Michael agrees.  
   
“Michael?” a woman’s voice asks.  
   
They look up. Dr. Schwartzman is standing in the doorway of her office, a smile on her face and clipboard in hand. They get up and follow her into the room, settling onto the orange couch where they always sit even though there are a few options. She settles in her desk chair.  
   
“Three more days?” she asks.  
   
Michael nods. “Sunday.”  
   
“Kind of a strange day of the week for a wedding, isn’t it?”  
   
“We wanted it to be on Christmas Eve, but our planner convinced us no one would come. So we settle for the day before, so we can wake up on Christmas Eve as husbands.”  
   
“Why does the holiday matter?”  
   
“Because I fell in love with him on Christmas Eve,” Luke answers, taking Michael’s hand again. “My first year with the team.”  
   
“I was a jerk before then, anyway,” Michael adds.  
   
Luke smiles and agrees. “Yes, you were.”  
   
“What would you like to talk about today, Michael?”  
   
After a pause, quietly but with only a small tremor of emotion in his voice, Michael says, “I’m getting married in less than a week and neither of my parents will be there.”  
   
Luke hadn’t known Michael cared about that, or was even thinking about it.  
   
“I know it’s stupid,” Michael continues. “I wouldn’t want my dad there anyway. But it’s like … a thing. Your parents are supposed to be there on your wedding day. They’re supposed to walk you down the aisle, your mom is supposed to cry, your dad is supposed to give a toast or something.”  
   
“Calum’s parents will be there,” Luke reminds him gently. “They love you like a son. And so do mine.”  
   
“He’s right, Michael,” Dr. Schwartzman says. “Family doesn’t end with blood. Sometimes, when the traditional way that family is supposed to be doesn’t work out, we have to pick our own families. It sounds like you’ve done that. The room will be full of people who love you.”  
   
Michael nods. “I know.”  
   
“Joy is definitely gonna cry. And Cal is gonna give a toast that will probably make everyone cry.” The knot in Luke’s chest loosens a little when Michael smiles. Everything is always better when Michael is smiling.  
   
“He probably will.”  
   
Dr. Schwartzman asks, “Does your father know? That you’re getting married.”  
   
Michael shrugs. “I have no idea. I haven’t seen him in months.”  
   
“Are you going to tell him?”  
   
Michael doesn’t answer. Luke reaches over and takes his hand, and Michael squeezes Luke’s fingers. “I would go with you, if you wanted him to know.”  
   
“He’d just say a bunch of horrible shit to you.” Michael shakes his head. “I’m not letting that happen. I don’t care what he thinks, anyway.”  
   
Luke knows Michael wishes that were true more than it really is, but assumes the therapist can see through Michael’s bravado as well so he doesn’t say it out loud.  
   
“We’ve talked a lot about you, Michael, in the last few months,” Dr. Schwartzmann says. “Things that you need to work on, things you’d like to change. While we’ve got Luke here, is there anything he does that you’d like him to work on?”  
   
Michael slowly looks up at Luke, and Luke smiles reassuringly at him. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”  
   
“Could you … not push so much? If I promise I’ll tell you things when I’m ready to tell you, could you leave it alone sometimes when I say I can’t talk yet?”  
   
Luke nods. “Yes. I can do that.”  
   
“Tell him why, Michael,” Dr. Schwartzman pushes gently.  
   
Michael looks back down. “Not everything needs to be fixed. I’m just gonna be sad sometimes, and I have to learn to be okay with that. And it kinda makes me feel like you think I owe you an explanation for having a bad day.”  
   
Luke swallows, and not caring that they aren’t alone, he kisses Michael’s hair. “I’m sorry. You don’t owe me an explanation, and I’m sorry I made you feel like that.”  
   
“Sometimes, being there for someone isn’t about fixing all their problems,” the doctor cuts in, speaking directly to Luke. “Sometimes it’s about just giving them a hug or holding their hand and letting them know you still love them, even if it’s a dark day.”  
   
“I love you just as much on your dark days,” Luke promises Michael. “Maybe even more, because it reminds me of everything you’ve been through, and how far you’ve come, and how amazing it is that you didn’t let him take away the good pieces of you.”  
   
Michael smiles again, just a hint of sadness behind his eyes, and asks his therapist, “Do you think we’ll be okay? I don’t wanna screw it up again.”  
   
“You didn’t,” Luke argues.  
   
“It matters more what you think, but I’ve been doing this for twenty years,” Dr. Schwartzman answers. “Believe me, I have seen the results of some of the worst things people can do to each other. I have seen enough to know that you are not beyond help. You aren’t broken, Michael. You’re sick. Getting better isn’t easy, but it’s very possible.”  
   
“We will get through this,” Luke adds. “Just like we’ve gotten through everything else.”  
   
“How do you know?”  
   
“Well.” Luke smiles. “You’re gonna be my husband, right?”  
   
“Right.”  
   
“So that means your shit is my shit, and I have no intention of letting anyone take one more single thing from you, or from us. We can’t go back and stop him from hurting you but we get to decide where the future goes, not him.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
“Is everything ready?” Brendan asks. “Tuxes fitted, flowers picked out?”  
   
“Do you care about floral arrangements?” Michael asks dryly, not looking up from his phone.  
   
Brendan snorts and drops down onto the couch, putting his socked feet up on the coffee table and upsetting a stack of magazines. “No. Do you?”  
   
Michael still doesn’t look up, but grins. “Not really. Our wedding planner handled most of that. She tried to get us to care about it, but. Whatever, she gets paid either way so I don’t know why it matters.”  
   
“Why do two guys even need a wedding? Isn’t it usually all about the bride? Why not just go down to the … whatever, registry, sign the piece of paper and skip to the honeymoon?”  
   
“It is a ceremony to celebrate their love with the people who love them.” Calum flicks Brendan on the ear as he walks by and then sits next to him. “Stop being shitty.”  
   
“Dude, I’m psyched for it,” Brendan says to defend himself. “Weddings are great. I was just surprised they wanted one.”  
   
“If you hit on my sister,” Calum warns.  
   
“If she doesn’t like me hitting on her, _she_ can tell me to fuck off and I will. And if she accepts my invitation to blow her mind on the dance floor, you can stay out of it. Or is she not capable of making her own decisions?”  
   
“Both of you, stop,” Michael groans. “Gally, we’re having a wedding because we want one. Cal, Mali can take care of herself. It’s my wedding week and you’re my best friends, you aren’t allowed to fight.”  
   
Luke looks at Ashton, and they both fight to supress a shared laugh. They’re in the kitchen, watching the argument from across the apartment.  
   
“ _Is_ everything ready?” Ashton asks. Unlike Brendan, he really does care.  
   
“I think so. Probably a bunch of things will go wrong, but that’s okay.”  
   
“Are you nervous?”  
   
“I’m nervous to have, like. A bunch of people staring at me. Not about getting married.”  
   
“You have thousands of people watching you on the ice every other day.”  
   
“Yeah, but I’m used to that.”  
   
“No pre-wedding jitters at all? No cold feet?”  
   
Luke smiles and shakes his head. “Nope.”  
   
Ashton clutches his chest and pretends to swoon. “A fairy tale for the ages.”  
   
“Shut up,” Luke laughs.  
   
He takes a swollen bag of popcorn out of the microwave and empties it into a wooden bowl, and then he and Ashton make their way to the living room. Despite Michael’s declaration of enforced peace, their friends are still arguing, although the topic has changed.  
   
“There better not be strippers,” Michael is saying, pointing his finger accusingly at Brendan.  
   
Brendan gives him a _you idiot_ sort of look. “Neither of you like women.”  
   
“I do!” Luke protests. When Michael raises his eyebrows, Luke hastily adds, “but, I don’t want strippers.”  
   
“You better not.”  
   
“I’d watch you strip for me, if you wanted,” Luke tells him, batting his eyelashes innocently when Michael glares.  
   
“ _No one_ will be stripping,” Brendan says loudly. “Except for maybe Cal if he gets drunk enough. You’ll have fun, okay, I promise. Nothing crazy, just us celebrating.”  
   
Calum raises his right hand like he’s taking an oath. “I solemnly swear to keep my clothes on.”  
   
“Yeah, we’ll see. You didn’t last time.” Brendan reaches into the bowl for a messy handful of popcorn, shoves it all into his mouth, and then nearly incoherently mumbles, “I’m leaving now. Be downstairs at 8 or we’re leaving without you.”  
   
“We’ll miss you,” Ashton calls to him, and Brendan flips him the middle finger over his shoulder.  
   
“Okay, now that it’s just us, I have something for you guys. Wait here.” Calum stands up and jogs to the door, leaving after Brendan and disappearing across the hall. He’s gone for a minute, and comes back with something in his hands, hidden behind his back. “I have a wedding present. Well, more for Michael, but I think Luke will like this too.”  
   
Michael eyes him warily. “Should I be scared?”  
   
“No. You should get some tissues, maybe.”  
   
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”  
   
Calum moves his hand out, and he’s holding a blue flash drive. “My mom was cleaning out the attic back home the other week, and she found some old VHS tapes. Home movies, from when I was a kid. We got a converter so we could save them, and I put some of them on this.”  
   
Luke’s heart skips a beat, thinking he knows where this is going and he’s proven right as Calum plugs the device into their television and an old, fuzzy video appears on the screen. Luke recognizes Michael from pictures he’s seen, and he recognizes Calum because he looks nearly exactly the same, just far smaller. They’re maybe nine or ten years old, running around in swimming trunks in a back yard, tossing colorful water balloons at each other. There are others in the video that Luke doesn’t recognize; neighbors, maybe, or other friends. Then the camera pans to two adults in lawn chairs. One of them is Joy, and Luke has only seen a few pictures of Michael’s mom but enough to instantly identify her. She’s blond and has rounded, rosy cheeks and a smile that lights up her whole face, just like Michael does. After a moment, she stands, just as Michael runs past her, grabbing him around the waist and picking him up. He squirms in her arms but they’re both laughing, and she kisses his cheek before letting him down and watching him run off again.  
   
With a lump in his throat, Luke looks over at Michael, who’s watching the screen with wide, shiny eyes. “After she died …” Michael starts.  
   
When he doesn’t finish the sentence, Calum does for him. “After she died, his dad destroyed all their videos. That’s why I thought he’d like this.”  
   
“It’s amazing,” Luke says, thickly. “Thank you.”  
   
Michael just nods.  
   
“We should leave them to it.” Ashton taps Calum on the arm, trying to hide that he’s a little misty behind the eyes like the rest of them, and Calum agrees and gets up. He reminds them to be ready at 8, and they leave.  
   
Michael moves, settling onto the floor only a few inches away from the T.V. The scene has switched to what looks like Calum’s birthday party; the noise of excited kids in the background, and Joy and Karen lighting candles on a blue cake in a kitchen. Michael reaches out and touches his mother’s face on the screen, lit up by the candles, as they carry the cake together toward a table. Luke sits next to him, wrapping his arms around Michael’s shoulders and kissing the side of his face.  
   
“I was so devastated when my dad threw away all our movies,” Michael says softly. “I thought I’d never see her again. I had pictures but …”  
   
On the screen, the group finishes singing and a gap-toothed Calum blows out his candles, and Karen happily asks, “What did you wish for?”  
   
Michael makes a soft noise in his throat at the sound of her voice, and then smiles as the past version of himself reminds his mom that if Calum tells, the wish won’t come true.  
   
“He actually told me what he wished for, later that day,” Michael says. “He decided if he whispered it, it would still come true. You wanna know what it was?”  
   
“Did it come true?”  
   
“Yeah. So far.” Michael’s lips curve into a smile. “He wished we could play hockey together forever.”  
   
“Are you okay?” Luke asks.  
   
Michael turns his head to press his lips gently against Luke’s. His voice is shaky, but it sounds genuine when he says, “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy.”  
   
He means in a larger sense than just this moment, and Luke feels it too. “I love you,” Luke tells him.  
   
“This reminds me. I have something for you, too.”  
   
“You didn’t need to get me a wedding present. It’s your wedding.”  
   
Michael smiles, kisses the tip of Luke’s nose, and disappears into their bedroom for a moment. Luke gets up off the ground and pauses the video, and when Michael comes back, there is a small, gold ring in his hand. He comes over, and holds it up for Luke to see. The band is tarnished, but the single white diamond in the middle sparkles in the light coming through the window.  
   
Luke frowns in confusion. “What’s this for?”  
   
“It was hers. It was my grandma’s, actually, but she gave it to my parents when they got married because they couldn’t afford diamonds. I took it, from my dad’s room, a few weeks after we buried her. I was worried he wouldn’t keep it. I don’t think he ever noticed.”  
   
“Don’t you want to keep it?”  
   
“Giving it to you is the same thing as me keeping it.” Michael reaches down and takes Luke’s hand, pressing the ring into his palm and then closing Luke’s fingers over it. “If she was still alive, she would’ve given it to me to propose with. She always told me that. I know it won’t fit you, but – ”  
   
“I’ll wear it on a chain,” Luke promises. He wraps his free hand around the back of Michael’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss. “That way, she’s always with us.”  
   
Michael’s smile is contrasted with wet eyes, but the smile is stronger. Luke’s noticed the change in the last few months. The thought of Michael’s mother and his lost childhood doesn’t make him sad anymore; it makes him happy for what he had when he had it, and hopeful for good things to come. He spends the rest of the afternoon glued to the television, staring wistfully at his young mother, but he looks content as he watches her and Luke leaves him to it.  
   
*           *           *


	30. triánta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This definitely has typos, I FINALLY finished this tonight and wanted to post it but I don't have time to proofread. I will look over it tomorrow for errors! Love you guys! Thank you for stickign with me through the worst writers block of all time over the last few months!

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

 

In suits too expensive to reflect their personalities, with P.K. better dressed than all of them added up together and Michael’s typical leather jacket instead of a blazer, they meet their friends and pile into a white limousine. Ashton grumbles about how tacky it is, P.K. tells him to shut up as he pours champagne, Brendan laments that there isn’t a sun roof for him to stand up through and flash unsuspecting drivers as they go by, and Carey, as always, watches in silence with a fond smile on his face. Luke is still nervous that Brendan has secretly planned something insane that will get almost immediately out of control and end in severe hangovers at best and criminal records at worst. Brendan refuses to tell anyone where they’re going as the limo travels through downtown Montreal, but after twenty minutes they pull up in front of a nice restaurant, and they’re led to a large private room that is decorated with framed pictures of Luke and Michael. There are hockey pucks at each place setting, embossed with the Canadiens logo and with  _Luke and Michael, 2018_  printed over it in gold lettering.  
   
“What the fuck,” Michael pronounces loudly, surmising Luke’s thoughts entirely. He’s stunned at the elegance and attention to detail.  
   
“What?” Brendan asks, sounding mildly panicked. “You don’t like it?”  
   
“Are you kidding?” Calum laughs. “I think we were all so worried you were taking us to a fight club or an opium den, we’re shocked at how normal this is.”  
   
“It’s perfect,” Luke tells him, not wanting Brendan to take  _normal_  as an insult. “I mean it, Gally. This is so nice.”  
   
“Wait, who else is coming?” Ashton asks, pointing out there are far more place settings than for just the seven of them.  
   
“Everyone,” Brendan grins mischievously. “The whole team. Although, I told them to show up an hour from now, so it’ll be just us at first.”  
   
Luke blinks. “The  _entire team_?”  
   
“They wanted to.” Still smiling, Brendan shrugs. “I feel like you forget sometimes that you two crazy kids falling for each other is what  _made_ us a team. It sucked around here before that. And we won a cup this past year, all of us, together. I sent an email around about tonight and literally every single guy messaged me back saying they wanted to come.”  
   
It makes Luke think about one of the two surprises he has for Michael on their wedding day, and wonder if Brendan knows about it. Luke has been swearing everyone to secrecy, but he wouldn’t be surprised if a few people broke that promise. So long as no one tells Michael prematurely, Luke wouldn’t mind if the entire world knew about it. They will soon enough anyway – the news of their wedding has been making international headlines for weeks. A woman from CNN called Luke’s agent about a month ago, requesting they do a segment about it complete with personal photos and on-camera interviews. Luke couldn’t imagine anything he’d like to do less, short of maybe diving head-first into a pit of spiders.  
   
In groups of two or three, their teammates begin to arrive, and Luke gets a lot of one-armed hugs and congratulatory pats on the back. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Michael receives the same, and smiles to himself at the glow on Michael’s cheeks and the sparkle in his eyes. Luke’s favorite thing is seeing Michael happy. There is delicious, extravagant food and expensive whiskey and loud laughter – mixed with a few horrified stares when Brendan gets pink-cheeked after too much red wine and admits he’s been scouring the internet for romantic stories fans have written about Luke and Michael because he was curious. Ashton and P.K., predictably, collapse into laughter, and Calum kicks Brendan hard under the table and changes the subject to the relief of the rest of the team.  
   
“Alright, alright, everybody shut up, I have some things to say,” Max says loudly, lifting his glass and pushing his chair back so he can stand.  
   
“You’re not allowed to make us cry, Patches,” P.K. warns.  
   
“As your captain, I feel entitled to say a few words.” Max makes a point of ignoring P.K.’s comments. “A few years ago, this 18 year old kid named Michael Clifford with a pierced eyebrow and lime green hair joined our team. And he was an incredible player.”  
   
Calum whoops in agreement.  
   
“And he was also kind of an asshole,” Max adds with a grin, and laughter fills the room. Michael laughs too. Max gets serious as he continues, “But, we were assholes back, and probably a lot worse. I don’t think any of us really know exactly who started it, but we all should have been better. And then, the next year, we got this one.”  
   
Reaching overtop of Ashton, Max playfully messes up Luke’s hair. “Dude,” Luke complains, swatting Max’s hand away and tries to undo the damage.  
   
“It was probably about six months but now it feels like it happened overnight, that everything just changed. We went from being divided and just a room full of guys looking out for themselves, to being a team. And this year, we were a hell of a fucking team. We won a cup this year, and a bunch of our guys won Olympic medals, and now, two of our teammates are making history and getting married. So, I am ordering you to raise your glasses to Luke and Michael, and to the rest of us too because we all fucking deserve to party our asses off tonight.”  
   
Everyone cheers, much too loudly for the fact that even though the room is private they’re still in a restaurant. Michael finds Luke’s hand on his thigh and threads their fingers together.  
   
*           *           *  
   
There’s been a checklist running through Luke’s head all day, that he keeps going over, trying to make sure they haven’t forgotten anything important. It’s a stupid stereotype, but when Luke was going up he always unconsciously assumed when he got married there would be a bride involved who would want to obsess over every detail. Luke never anticipated being heavily involved in the planning of a wedding. He’s beyond excited for tomorrow, but also stuck with a nagging feeling there’s something huge and glaring that they’ve both overlooked. Luke reaches down to absentmindedly pet the purring ball of black fur curled up next to his hips, as he bites at his lip and mentally goes through his list one more time.  
   
The sound of running water shuts off, and a minute later Michael comes into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist and a few thin bleeds of red hair dye dripping down his chest from his towel-dried hair. He smiles at Luke and climbs onto the edge of the bed. The movement offends Kellin, and the cat jumps down with a disgruntled meow and trots out of the room.  
   
“That’s okay, he’s not gonna want to stick around anyway,” Michael says, grinning mischievously and positioning himself in Luke’s lap.  
   
“You’re wet,” Luke tells him, but they both know he doesn’t really care. Michael dips down and kisses him, and Luke slides his hands up into Michael’s damp hair. “You’re gonna remember the rings, right?”  
   
“We’re gonna remember everything. And if we don’t, then we laugh about it and carry on,” Michael tells him. “Stop worrying.”  
   
“I’m trying.”  
   
“Let me help.” Michael kisses Luke’s neck, and trails one hand down Luke’s chest and settles between his legs, pressing gently and then rubbing, and all other thoughts melt away from Luke’s mind.  
   
“Last time we do this out of wedlock,” Luke jokes, his voice shaky as arousal courses thick and warm through his veins.  
   
“Who says I’m not gonna blow you in the limo on the way to the ceremony tomorrow?” Michael leaves a wet, thorough kiss on Luke’s lips and then shimmies down his body, tugging Luke’s boxers down with him. “Or right now.”  
   
Luke is wrapped in moist heat almost before he has time to brace himself for it, and his head falls back against the pillow. His fingers curl in the bedsheets, electricity sparks up and down his spine, his eye close when Michael hums around him. Just as Luke’s head is starting to swim, Michael pulls off suddenly, and the unpleasant burst of cold air makes Luke gasp.  
   
“Shh,” Michael whispers, kissing Luke’s thigh, maddeningly close to where Luke wants his mouth back but not quite close enough.  
   
“You’re a jerk,” Luke tells him, panting unsteadily. “I was close.”  
   
“I know.” Michael kisses his way up Luke’s stomach and chest, leaving wet marks that turn to goosebumps. When he gets up enough, he whispers into Luke’s lips, “Don’t want you to come yet. Sit up, against the headboard.”  
   
Luke grumbles about it, and his limbs are weak like after a heavy lifting session at the arena, but he complies, pushing up on his hands and scooting backwards until he’s upright with his legs stretched out in front of him. Michael climbs back into his lap, tossing the towel to the floor and kissing Luke slowly as he settles, reaching behind himself for Luke’s aching cock and holding it steady to sink down onto it in one smooth, easy motion.  
   
Luke nearly chokes, the sensation familiar but still somehow a pleasant surprise every time, and holds onto Michael’s hips. The idea of Michael prepping himself while Luke was reading has Luke’s head back to spinning. “Fuck,” he says, his voice shaking.  
   
Michael repeats the curse, dropping his forehead down to Luke’s shoulder, and then laughs softly. Happily.  
   
“Did you do that in the shower?” Luke asks, but it’s unnecessary. He knows Michael did.  
   
“Figured I’d save us some time,” Michael says, in that tense, breathless way that means he can’t quite breathe properly at the moment, and Luke can’t either.  
   
*           *           *  
   
When Luke wakes up, he’s alone. Before his eyes are open, he reaches blindly for Michael and finds only Kellin. The cat makes a small, content noise when Luke’s fingers scratch the top of his head. After a brief cuddle, he gets up, and finds Michael in the kitchen. He’s shirtless, in plaid flannel pants, standing against the island and slowly sipping coffee. He looks lost in thoughts. Luke goes to him, moving in close behind Michael and wrapping his arms around Michael’s waist. His skin is soft under Luke’s hands, and Michael leans back into Luke’s chest and turns his head to press a kiss to Luke’s jaw.  
   
“Mornin’,” Michael murmurs.  
   
“We’re getting married today,” Luke says, needlessly. He knows Michael knows. They’ve barely talked about anything else all week.  
   
“Tomorrow, when we wake up, you’ll be my husband.”  
   
“I better wake up  _with_  you tomorrow.”  
   
“I had to pee and you looked so comfortable, with your face half-smushed into the pillow.”  
   
“Was I drooling?”  
   
“A little. It was cute, though.”  
   
Luke chuckles and Michael kisses his cheek again. Luke nudges Michael’s nose with his own and their lips meet in a real kiss. Michael leans back a little further, Luke supporting half his weight, and Luke slips his fingertips just under the waistband of Michael’s pajamas to press against the warm skin.  
   
“D’you think we should be seeing each other today?” Michael asks. “It’s supposed to be bad luck.”  
   
“We already have seen each other, so it’s too late anyway. And I think that tradition is more about the groom not seeing the bride all done up in her dress before she walks down the aisle. Neither of us is wearing a dress.”  
   
“I see you in a tux fairly often, but I bet you’ll still take my breath away.”  
   
Luke tightens his arms around Michael’s waist and for a few minutes they linger in silence. Luke hates to ruin the moment, but Michael is forgetful even after months, so he asks, “Did you take your pills?”  
   
“Yes,” Michael says quietly. “My head goes fuzzy if I don’t. I wanna be all there today, more than any other day in my entire life.”  
   
“Love you,” Luke whispers to him. Every time he says it lately, it feels like he means it more. Luke hopes there’s no ceiling on the feeling. He hopes he means it more every time he says it for the rest of their lives.  
   
“Love you back.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke peeks beyond the curtain, waiting with Ashton and his brothers in the tunnel behind the home bench. He and Michael flipped a coin for who would get to come from their bench and who would have to settle for where the other team sits during a game, and Michael lost. The Bell Centre has been transformed from a hockey rink into the venue for their wedding and reception. The removable floor they use for concerts is covering the ice, the boards are decorated in red and black, and an alter across the way in front of the penalty box, with rows of chairs facing it. They looked at several other places, but none made as much sense as the arena where they met, and fell in love, and have spent nearly every day together ever since.  
   
Luke gave Calum strict instructions, while he and Michael and the others are waiting in the away team’s tunnel, to not let Michael do what Luke’s doing right now; stealing a glance out into the arena. Together, they invited just over 100 people to the ceremony. Later, Luke had contacted a few influential people and asked them to get the word out about an open, but secret, invitation. As he looks out into the stands, Luke’s stomach flips over itself as he takes in the bodies. More than he’d been expecting in his wildest dreams. The chairs on the floor are filled with the people Michael knows are here; the stands are filled with dozens of players from other teams, trainers, commentators, and people who work for the league. Luke has to cough to cover his squeak of surprise when his eyes travel along the crowd and fall on the NHL commissioner.  
   
“Did they come?” Ashton asks, crowding up behind Luke.  
   
“It’s bigger than  _they_ ,” Luke answers. “Ash, there’s like 500 people out there. Holy shit.”  
   
Ashton looks and shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s crazy, I never thought that many would … but it’s great, right?”  
   
Luke nods, and suddenly is nervous about getting married in front of so many strangers. For just a moment, he second guesses himself.  
   
Ashton takes him by the shoulders and shakes him gently. “Hey. This is awesome. This is what you wanted, right? For Michael to feel like the league finally accepts him?”  
   
Luke nods again, and Ashton is right. Luke wanted Michael to walk down the aisle with the support of the NHL behind him, in a way that people should have been all along but weren’t, in the beginning.  
   
“You ready for this?” Ashton asks, his eyes crinkled in the biggest smile.  
   
“Yeah.” Luke looks at his best friend, and could burst from excitement and anticipation.  
   
P.K.’s microphoned voice comes on over the speakers, asking everyone to take their seats, and then the music starts playing and Luke’s heart starts being so quickly. His brothers hug him, one by one, before they leave to walk down the aisle. While his arms are wrapped tightly around Luke’s back, Ben says, “We’re so proud of you, little brother.” When it’s Luke’s turn, he takes a deep breath and tenses his hands to stop them from shaking, and steps out over the bench and onto the floor. He looks to his right and sees Michael, but Michael isn’t looking back. Instead, he’s staring out into the stands, his lips parted and his eyes wide. When he doesn’t move for a few seconds too long, people start clapping, and then cheering. With a laugh, instead of waiting for Michael to meet him in the middle, Luke goes to him.  
   
“We gotta walk down the aisle now, babe.”  
   
“Did you do this?” Michael asks, finally tearing his eyes away from the stands and looking at Luke.  
   
“A lot of people wanted to be here. To support us.”  
   
Michael huffs a breath of bewilderment, and plants a kiss on Luke’s lips.  
   
“Hey!” P.K. calls from the alter. “I didn’t say you were allowed to do that yet! At least let me marry you before you start making out!”  
   
The rumble of laughter vibrates in Luke’s chest, and he smiles at Michael and takes his hand. They walk, together, toward P.K. and Luke’s groomsmen, and Michael’s – Calum and Brendan and Carey and Mali Koa upstaging them all in a sparkly black dress. P.K. extends thanks to everyone for attending, and cracks another joke that has laughter clapping like thunder in the arena, but Luke barely hears the rest of his speech. He’s lost in Michael’s green eyes, and in the smile on the face of the person he loves so much that his vows don’t begin to cover it. The rest of the evening is dancing and laughing and celebrating. The ring feels heavy and meaningful on Luke’s finger. He can’t stop touching it, and in a way he hopes he never stops noticing it. Luke’s mom cries when they dance together with everyone watching, with Michael and Joy dancing next to them.  
   
Calum’s toast has everyone teary-eyed, as Luke expected it would. “Most of you know that Michael has been through a lot of really awful things in his life,” Calum says, “and he and I have been together through most of it. I am so proud to be able to stand here today and look at the person he’s become in spite of it all. The fact that he could get past everything and allow himself to love someone as much as he loves Luke, is inspiring to everyone they let into their lives. And there is no one on earth I would be happier to have Michael end up with than Luke. I’ve been protective of Michael since we were eight years old, but knowing how  they care for each other, I know I don’t have to be so protective anymore. They have the kind of relationship that poets should write about, and I have no doubt they’ll spend the rest of their lives making everyone around them sick over how in love they are.”  
   
Hours into the party, when Luke’s feet are tired from dancing and his throat is sore from talking, he figures now is as good a time as any for his second surprise. He scans the crowd for Michael’s bright red hair, and spots it on the other side of the rink. He goes to him – to his  _husband_ , it feels so surreal to even think that word – finding him chatting with a few players from various other teams that they’ve met over the years. He puts his hand on Michael’s lower back to alert him. Michael turns, and then smiles when he sees who it is.  
   
“Mind if I borrow him for a few minutes?” Luke asks the group.  
   
They all nod, and a few offer congratulations, and Luke threads his fingers through Michael’s without a trace of embarrassment and leads him away.  
   
“Where are we going?” Michael asks.  
   
“There’s something I want to show you,” Luke tells him. He takes Michael down the tunnel, to the hallway behind it, past the empty dressing rooms, and to the showers.  
   
“We probably shouldn’t consummate our marriage right this second,” Michael jokes. “Someone might walk in and then need to gouge their eyes out.”  
   
“I’m so lucky I married a guy this funny,” Luke mutters sarcastically.  
   
Michael smiles, and circles his arms around Luke’s waist. “Yes, you are. Okay, why are we here, then?”  
   
“Because this is where we had our first kiss. When we weren’t dating or even friends yet. Then we kissed here a few times once we were dating.” Luke leans down and captures Michael’s lips, just barely flicking his tongue at them and opening his mouth against Michael’s a few times before letting the embrace break and his forehead rest on Michael’s. “There. Now we’ve kissed in here as husbands.”  
   
“The tradition lives on.” Michael is joking again, but a little more breathlessly this time. It make Luke’s heart race to think he can still do that to Michael, with just a kiss.  
   
“It’s like bookends,” Luke murmurs. He keeps Michael tucked up close to him, rocking them back and forth just slightly, moving from foot to foot, like they’re almost dancing even though there’s no music. “And hopefully a good luck charm.”  
   
“Do you think we’ll need it?”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “I think we’ve had enough bad luck for a lifetime. The universe owes us at least a few decades of smooth sailing.”  
   
“You know that probably won’t really happen, right?”  
   
“I know I love you enough to get through anything the world can throw at us.”  
   
Michael rests his head on Luke’s shoulder and hums contentedly. “Okay. Don’t tempt fate, though.”  
   
“Are you superstitious?”  
   
“All hockey players are superstitious.”  
   
“True.”  
   
“Is this what you brought us in here to do?” Michael asks.  
   
“Partly.” Luke lets go of him and starts taking off his suit jacket. “This is the other thing.”  
   
He hands Michael his jacket, and Michael frowns as he watches Luke unbutton his white shirt. “I said we  _can’t_  consummate our marriage in here, remember?”  
   
Luke smiles. “That’s not what I’m doing.”  
   
Once his shirt is undone all the way, he pulls one arm out of it, and holds it up so Michael can see the tattoo. It’s been nearly impossible to hide it from him for the last three days, and Luke thought maybe Michael might have seen it by accident and just not said anything, but judging by the look on Michael’s face, he did manage to keep it a secret until now.  
   
Michael’s mouth moves but no words come out. His fingers reach out, shaking as they do, and run slowly over the spot where Luke’s pale skin is stained with …  _and back,_  in black ink and curly letters that match Michael’s.  
   
“I was sure I was screwed the other night when I wouldn’t take my shirt off in bed,” Luke says. “I still sort of can’t believe you just went with that and didn’t ask any questions.”  
   
“I was gonna ask.” Michael is still staring, wide-eyed, at Luke’s arm. “And then you kissed me and I sorta just forgot about it.”  
   
“Good to know I have that power. I’ll definitely use that against you in the future.”  
   
“What is this?” Michael asks. He exhales, full of emotion, and looks up at Luke with his mouth open.  
   
“What you told me, the night we got engaged. About yours. I thought I should finish it.”  
   
“Why?”  
   
Luke frowns. “Do you not like it?”  
   
Michael shakes his head quickly. “I  _love_  it.” His hands come up to cup Luke’s face and pull him in for another kiss. “But tell me why.”  
   
“Because your mom isn’t gone.” Luke pulls his shirt back on, and then wraps his arms around Michael and holds him close. He speaks against Michael’s lips, pressing the words into his skin. “She’s such an enormous part of you, so now she’s part of  _us_. And she might not be able to come back, but I want you to be sure that I always will.”  
   
Michael’s head shakes back and forth again, slower this time; bewildered. “I love you so much. I don’t – ”  
   
“Yes, you do,” Luke cuts in, gently, knowing what Michael was about to say. “You do deserve me. We’re working on this, remember? You deserve every good thing you have.”  
   
“I’m trying to believe it,” Michael whispers, but he sounds determined instead of sad. It’s such a nice change.   
   
“I’m proud of you.”  
   
“I love you.”  
   
“You said that already.” Luke smiles against Michael’s lips.  
   
“You just married me. I get to say it ten times a day for the next fifty or sixty years. That’s my legal right, now. So you better get used to it.”  
   
“I’ll never get used to it. It’ll make me happy every time.”  
   
“Good.”  
   
“To the moon,” Luke adds, just to be cheesy about it, because he can.  
   
Michael combs his fingers through Luke’s hair, going up on his toes to kiss Luke a little deeper than the time before. “And back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: I do not personally know, represent, or profit off of using the likeness of any of the following real people (in order of appearance):  
> Luke Hemmings // Michael Clifford // Ashton Irwin // Calum Hood  
> Michel Therrien // Brendan Gallagher // Carey Price // P.K. Subban  
> Liz Hemmings // Andy Hemmings // Jack Hemmings //Max Pacioretty  
> Katia Pacioretty // Mali Koa Hood // Alexandre Bilodeau // Blake Wheeler  
> Jamie Benn // John Tavares // Ben Hemmings // T.J. Oshie  
> Cam Fowler // John Tortorella // Celeste Bible // Nathan Beaulieu


End file.
